"A blanket - band...?" Martun smarted.
Neil saw good length bvt no enduring similes to play with. "Bland," he corrected, making Martun face the wall like a sleazed Blair Witch.
"I'm so full of myself I'm running on empty," Martun complained, his face jowelling and his eyes turning from blue to grey.
Neil flashed on the carpet (flashed on the floor).
"I've...become..disgusted by your...presence," Neil managed
But by then.
"He wrote bad things. He saw all that he wrote. He wrote all that he saw. He tuned and turned and tunned and tuna...."
Neil wrecked Martun, pulled him allways and that, broke so many pieces that Martun's only son, the nervous but salty george (small g) couldn't hope but piece him together in annoything approximating order (ordure)
They kept it fleshing but the skin never did heal.