Selling bedsheets on the side, for extra profit. Supplemental income. Nigger faces had trouble down there.
Guards to watch the doors were heavy on the speed. Anything to cure the unweaving. Gravy. Bringing. Crabs crawled away, the restaurant shaped after them, captains running wildly into the streets, waving their hands, maniacs down the sidewalks to catch a few sea crabs. Pink slip disorientation diseases made paranoid believers in all of them. Elevators weren't running on time. Stairways were too much effort.
Party faces cropped their smiles, drinks in hand, playing their perils again. Broad smiles intact. Trusting devotees walking confidently into the mix. The punch bowl was not delivered the way it was ordered, the faces didn't mind, nor did they bother to notice, the hostess ranted to her husband face all evening behind the bushes, planted strategically for just such events, then taken away the next day for mobility. The party never stopped 'til the third day. Drunkards became drunk all over again. Political views were forbidden to be discussed as long as the reign of the king was still happening. Courses, events to prelude the office holdings were taboo here and all over town. Whispered behind backs, though, need, was the information passed. It was not bad. Gads need not work very much to get the word to the community. Their names were found out and blacklisted.
It was so easy.
Marital bliss, the faces knew none of this. Jailers locked petty thieves, serving sentences as stiff as they wished. The ugliest ones stayed the longest. Gardeners came in second.
A betrayed face meant serious offense, serious punishment in revenge methods. Farm houses were battle grounds for torpedo fights. The scrambling eggs habit was not interfered with, regardless. Puny men found other exotic men and had fun together. So not all was amiss. Awareness factors entered motivations in the activities, a long record of respected and repeated fun-solvers kept breaking in and spoiling the good times. Baby faces launched
RIVER BED 73
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