2) I think she'd be inclined to take over every inch of surface area if possible, purchasable. After all, when the tortoise sucks in its head, she slams her bum half-daintily on his little house so he doesn't run away with something useful. It's grotesque and terrible to track her very blur: the slam of shop doors, molars crunching, veins pulling up into the tactical arsenal of her wide forehead. She's going to scrunch her nervous laugh up her nose and tell you she has a plan; her slant will be impeccable, her timing will be "unpredictable."
3) He's been gazing normally at the same space of wall in the cafe for many months, minus the interference of life. Sometimes he doesn't go out for days; still, he averages about a show, a museum, or a movie a week. He's never had the misfortune of contemplating himself as simple v. complicated, social or secret, aloud to anyone. He likes the birds that land on statues. He's almost always on time. He's simply almost always on time.
4) Now, somewhere in the black mountain hills of Dakota there lived a young boy (named Rocky Raccoon). And one day his woman ran off with another guy--hit Rocky in the eye, Rocky didn't like that. He said, "I'm gonna get that boy," so one day he walked into town and booked himself a room in a local saloon. Rocky Raccoon had checked into his room only to find a Gideon's bible; Rocky had come equipped with a gun to shoot the legs off of his rival. (His rival, it seems, had broken his dreams by stealing the girl of his fancy.)