Ick.
* * * * *
Still Lives Part Six
His glasses (which have the appearance of storm windows) glint occasionally with sunlight sifted through the metal blinds. The nose on which they lie protrudes over purplish lips which smack with rightful enjoyment if he asks a question. When chalking onto the board he establishes a bird’s nest of this line and that line and the other line (the students wait for him to read the notes aloud). He curves like a willow tree, bowed by decades of Dickens and Joyce. His fingers dance on the desk a patter of (impatience and) enthusiasm.