Isn't Humpsweet the last name of that one guy from the old neighborhood? We never saw his wife and made up stories that
there was no wife, only a series of ever more elaborately dressed mannequins, positioned
near windows, moved according to a fastidiously prepared matrix. One mannequin kept in the car in the garage,
the car Humpsweet took out on Saturday night, after dark, supposedly to bingo
at the Elks lodge, but in reality he parked in the Shavers grocery store
parking lot, towards the back, half-in and half-out of the buttered tinge of
the parking post glow, and then slipped down an alley and one shave-and-a-haircut
knuckle rap later earned entrance to the basement of the sporting goods where
the proprietor and his brother fired up the Super 8 and showed hardcore Bangkok
child-on-child action for an honored and pre-selected few.
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