Frigid Bitch: It's like a 12-step program for assholes.
Lunch Lines: A noontime sentence.
Joseph Campblog: Exploring the books of Joseph Campbell.

« April 2008 | Main | June 2008 »

"What'll you do all summer?" he continued, "Without a job to keep you busy, and some money to keep you happy?"

Whenever he tried to blend in, those nails were a dead giveaway. But his preferred camouflage was that of a human, so the colorful fingertips didn't stand out like they would against, say, a herd of goats.

The job was his parents' idea; and the painted nails were his retribution, a physical adornment that, as a Chameleëlf, he knew he was expected to avoid.

Styg was a year above Olive, which meant his life was peppered with brand new things like summer jobs, and painting his nails in defiance of his parents. But then there was that tendency of his to always hope for the best -- it always made Olive feel like she was the older of the two.

It was the last Thursday in June, and they were at last riding the train home from school and into another great big ripening summer.

"But I told them you were interested," said Styg, "or not INTERESTED, but, you know, at least not totally gloomy."

"No," she said. Her voice was flat and still, as usual; and as usual, Olive's fingers traced the outline of an egg-sized lump sewn into the hem of her pea coat.

Many of the folk hardely even knew or cared for them at all -- but only one person actually hated them, and that was Olivia Pitty, the Pitted Olive.