Sympathy Quotes Loss Of A Mother In Law

good debut novel (catching) - by Fred (Exercise # 15)

1. In his office translucent, floating above the skyscrapers of Oulipothèque, Lynx scrutinized me from head to foot before handed me the list of ingredients include: a paper airplane for takeoff, a packet of flour for white makeup, a movie ticket for every luggage Malle ... The way I managed to climb up him to escape the censor for cats false was enough to convince him of my determination Panther alert. Did not mind the stairs, I could respond with flexibility to its feline grilling. Finally, I wanted the secret of the great paper tigers! After many lifetimes of hard work useless, I was going to put my shoe on the keyboard and become the queen of the incipit. A good start to the novel and quite would be the end of these vile guns guard dogs canine style! A new chapter began ... cat

2. The apartment door closes on your father left for work. Fear you contract the abdomen. When the cat's away, the fury is in a trance. His sharp invectives, his incisive words you reduced to the status of a package of flour with an ugly mouse gnawing at the bottom of stubbornness that will not open a closet. Your brain is a powder which his legs nerve clawed his neuroses, leaving traces of wolf stalking its prey. You close your eyes to ward off his sentences knives. Hidden in you, you t'insurges. You barricades. You t'absentes. You take off, you are no longer on the cold floor of the kitchen, you are the king and the bird perched high above the skyscrapers. You are the giant elephant's ears, as in this film that you have hung the pretty ticket above your bed. You fly so fast, if you flat top, spins you so hard, you do not see anymore. And she can never see you anymore.

3. She pushes his cart along the paths of this labyrinth of detergent, noodles, milk cartons. She looks at her post-it fluorescent. It takes. She drops. A box of peeled tomatoes in juice. It takes. She drops. One liter of degreaser for dishes. It takes. She drops. Five slices of ham the sixth free. It takes. She drops. A box of food for the cat he left. It takes. She drops. A kilo of pure cane brown sugar. It takes. She drops. A holiday memory in Martinique. It takes. She drops. A packet of flour warranty against lumps. It takes. She drops. Paul's hand that strums somewhere in New York. He now lives in a film which she lost the ticket. She argues in the streets of Manhattan skyscrapers provincial laundry, noodles, milk cartons, lost in the traffic of carts that intersect, skim, separate.