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Imagine how your hands would smell if you bought fifty pounds of past-due-date ground beef and paid for it entirely with pennies.
Rutherford usually didn’t take pleasure in other people’s unhappiness, but life was serving Stoker and Volz’s unhappiness to him on a silver platter. He felt it would be rude not to accept.
This shop was different from the others in that it was attached to a low-rent strip club, like the pro shop in a bowling alley.
Rutherford recognized to be a very nice inexpensive suit. The kind of suit one might get if he walked into a JCPenney and said, “Shoot the works, my good man, for I am a big shot.”
“All community colleges are prisons of a sort. People get sent there as punishment for getting bad grades.”
“She wanted to call you,” Vanessa said, “but I told her to let me. I know how to deal with situations like these.” Rutherford said, “That’s true,” and he meant it. He’d never met anyone more adept at finding drama, amplifying drama, and placing herself directly in the middle of the drama, all the while declaring that she doesn’t need this drama. “I don’t need all this drama,” Vanessa said.
who was busy loading food items that were essentially cold beige tubes onto a cooking apparatus that was essentially a rack of hot silver tubes.
Still, it was the principle of the thing. When one is tricked into accepting a favor, it feels like a trick, not a favor.
“It’s two vertical lines and a poofy bit at the top. It’s either a chef’s hat or a mushroom cloud. Is it a chef’s hat, Albert? Please tell me it’s a chef’s hat.”
Nobody thinks about it, but your face is like a mask. Behind it there’s just a big wet emptiness, both physically, and for some people, spiritually.”
Anyone could have stolen that card: another patient, another comedian, a waiter who took his card. Maybe a server at a comedy club? I bet working in that environment could teach a person to hate.
