Her faces and moods, like her wardrobe, changed weekly, if not daily. Flared jeans for one date, an Armani suit jacket for the next; a D&G dress for one, then Nikes and slacks for another. And when she talked to people from different backgrounds, although she did not like to admit this to herself, her market research experience helped in discussing the things they liked. She knew, for example, that E34's used Ecover washing powder and supported Greenpeace, and that F41's liked Star Trek: the Next Generation and read Harry Potter even though they didn't have kids. It wasn't that she was two faced; if anything she was 82 faced, or 34 four faced, that being the number of lovers she had in her twenties, as was fairly normal for people of her type at this point in time.the 82 types of person in the world
Their solace was then interrupted by a knocking at the door. Sylvia didn’t hesitate for a second to answer wearing nothing but her undergarments. The hotel attendant at the door was as shocked as Athen to see her standing there, even in near total darkness, with the door wide open.
“Ma’am,” he said, “We are passing out candles for your inconvenience. We hope the power will return shortly.”
“Can we have two, please?” she said. “This room really calls for two candles, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. I suppose.”right now at this very moment
In some versions, the dead bodies become a kind of reef. Life accretes. Swallows and wind-lost moths harbour in the folds of their bodies, building nests of stolen tobacco and pubic hair. Slow-flying pelicans graze the sluggish currents, mouths wide and filtering, gripping slippery sparrows from oozing vapour, slow and graceful as whales. Albatrosses, wingspans of fifteen feet or more. Lammergeyer that blot the sun, feathers smooth as polished brass.the wood of suicides