“I know him as well as I know Evander Holyfield.” Suddenly John stretched his arms out as far as his lanky frame would allow. “And me and Holyfield are this close.”
The sentiment wasn’t lost but it all seemed rather pointless as we watched this stranger sitting on John’s porch, resting in a rocking chair that he must have brought with him, as John had never been able to afford outside furniture.
“I’d call the cops,” John smirked, “but seriously they will just fuck up how weird this could get.”
May we please mandate a cease and no-more-speak of Adult Teeth. The term is a crafty deception…well a rogue to avoid confrontational speaking to be more precise.
Is it too much to just stare down at the child, holding a tooth in his hand, puddled in a mouth-blended concoction of spit and blood, that now is the waiting time for the Last Teeth. There are no more real teeth after these wider, brighter ones. Sure there are fakeries of invention but these are the last teeth the body will make.
Finality is a terrifying thought for a child, or maybe it is for everyone.