His face was regular and flat as the prairies it had sprung from-and as flat as the accent those prairies had spawned. I wondered if they were ever to meet, would they wrestle? Or perhaps they would be glad to finally get a good look at each other and embrace, two long lost brothers, rubbing noses like two Eskimo.Īs I sat across from him, I couldn’t help but wonder what else was out of balance with Mr. In it, he gritted his teeth, straining at his opponent, while his nipples went about their day behind their Lycra, imperious and affronting, mild and downcast. Krimm had been a boy wrestler, and his imbalance was clear in an especially sweaty shot. I’d seen them both on his “home page.” Mr. In contrast, the other nipple looked down, disappointed with itself, which I supposed it had a right to be. Krimm’s left nipple was noticeably larger than his right, surprised and staring, the eye of a belligerent rainbow trout.
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