They shared the same heart, the same torso, the same ass, the same penis. What they didn’t share were any opinions. They couldn’t even toast a slice of bread without a vicious political argument breaking out.
In the past three days, Iris had given birth three times—each time she’d gone to the bathroom to defecate.
It was a summer morning like any other—except for the fact that when he looked in the bathroom mirror while splashing cold water on his face, Gregg Sandstone did not expect to see an adult human vagina occupying the center of his forehead.
They were like zombies, but instead of eating her flesh, they’d walk up and say something dumb to her.
They loved their son, even though they would probably never get to kiss him.
It was the closest thing to a staring contest he’d ever had with an animal, he told me later on.