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That filthy black crescent of bins behind the elevators, the floor covered with bent nails, his palms black and Chandler the fairy mincing in every hour on the hour telling him to wash his hands so he wouldn’t foul the furniture.
Fuck you, Rabbit.
Their license plate says West Virginia. All the plates do except his.
Yeah, I can see why they looked at you like an outsider.
He imagines West Virginia girls as coarse hard-bodied laughers, like the young whores in Texas.
There's plenty of variety, but you eventually get used to the laughter.
The thought flits through his brain that Eccles is known as a fag and he has become the new pet.
Fuck you again, Rabbit.
It’s one thing to get hell from other people and another from your own parents.
"They always know exactly what buttons to push."
"They installed them."
-- Mad About You
