Then, and easily as the right key turns the lock tumblers,their mouths came together, and hard,Jack's big teeth bringing blood, whiskers rasping, wet salvia welling,and the egg opening and Alma looking out.
Sophia: "I know exactly how Alma feels. Picture it, Venice, 1922. A gondoleer who don't talk much catches the eyes a young Italian girl as she's kneeding her dough for a pizza."Rose: I thought your stories always took place in Sicily?Sophia: What? I can't travel to another village? Anyway, things were going well between the two of us, and then he flipped me over!