Shaving naked at the
basin in front of the mirror towel draped in the classic way you inevitably
gather some movie star glitter-shiver. Ah me! Well, well.... In order to stop
the blood flow into the swollen toes of the right, up onto the toilet lid with
you peg-leg. Top of the cistern would be better but too much of a stretch. With
two-part shaving regime it made it all easier—gargling the mouthwash you did
the sideys and corner of the cheeks, jaw-bone, edge of the neck. But no need
that trifle. Catching in the mirror the bodily sway made by the passes of the
blade in the main-sail one recalled the magnificent Polynesian sailors of old
out on their communal fishing expeditions, or else traversing the vast salty stretch
between the islands bride-hunting perchance. Their trusty, reliable navigation
tool lowered into the cool rushing water judging tide and current to a nicety.
Unsurpassable mastery of their watery world without destroying the whole box
and dice. Ah! some little unexpected pleasure. Scraping the lather this morn
after a fair night's sleep, the flame of the fungus waking only the once.
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