The Last of the Guacamoleans

A man in textured cotton trousers stood in the doorway, wearing a heavy smile. The man, not the doorway, that is. Gravity aggrieved him evidently. The drooping corners of his half-grinning, half-grimacing mouth sagged after the same fashion as the tired bow of his shoulders.

He could well have come straight on from a local funeral. The pall of a pallbearer hung around him. Palpably so. All around him. Like a morbid mist of despondency.

This Saul’s first impression of the man who next introduced himself as The Last of the Guacamoleans.

About Lorem Ipsum

Just some guy trying to figure out where the "on" switch is hid on the remote control—ah, forget it. Because, you know what, I'm also the kinda guy who always likes the book waaay more than the movie! View all posts by Lorem Ipsum

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