What can YOU say in six sentences?
I can’t stand the color pink,” Jessie scowled. “Who… I mean, what idiot, would have made plastic Flamingos, pink, for God’s sake? They should be black—all black, with tiny white eyes and dark gray beaks.”
Jessie hated everything in this dilapidated west-side trailer park —the mobile homes, the pavement, the utility hook ups, the weary decorative flamingos, and, most of all, the residents. The whole sorry place seemed to slump lower than a swamp, between the two towering Florida freeway overpasses, which sped their oblivious drivers on to the wealthier, palm-shaded suburbs where no one had ever laid foot, let alone ever lived, in a “mobile home.”
“And who the fuck,” Jessie queried, “would have the balls to name a shithole place like this, ‘Desire’?”