Hank's sister, Grace, used to want to argue over any idiom. This made her difficult at parties, and many times she had to be quietly escorted through a back door and into a taxi. She had copper heels, preferred drama, and had a boyfriend who was a straw developer, always searching for a rose. 'It's a matter of chemistry,' she used to say. 'To me, lust is on clearance, and I'm always offering appraisals on the scratching of itches.' I remember one time she told me this as she was hanging supermarket curtains throughout her summer home. It did help to relax the graffiti somewhat, though one could occasionally see a verb or a question mark or a cartoon nose or some odd thing here and there. 'You just have to come over tonight,' she once told me. 'Why is that?' I asked her. 'I'm having several mediums over for wine and snacks and we're going to try to establish communication with a choir that lived down the street from my great great grandmother, I think in the Louisiana Territory or someplace.' I nodded and thought about it. I remember she once herself tried to communicate with the dead using some needlepoint designs and a fire hydrant. She was able to reach a woman who was covered with leaves, but I don't think this person was actually departed. 'Footnotes, footnotes,' the leaf woman had said as she appeared. 'Your radius is heavy,' responded Grace, 'and you've caused my chair to slope.' 'Don't let my bandwidth interfere with the dawn,' said the leaf woman. 'My empire has a temper, and this will weigh down your every hypothesis,' replied Grace. At any rate, I got a call from Grace just last week. She told me that treasure will eventually become conscious, and this is how culture is born, and that this would all be in her autobiography, supposedly in bookstores as early as next month. Apparently she had written the entire thing using diagonals, and it was ghost written as well, supposedly by a justice whale. 'It's called Soil is Intuitive and I Will Fry Your Onion,' she then told me. I wondered if a downslash is anything like a backslash. What is her motive, I wondered. I do know that all of her houseplants cannot be trusted and rearrange themselves at night while she is sleeping. Before she hung up the phone that day she said, 'I'm overcome with scenery, so will you become my successor?' I wasn't too sure how to reply to that, so I just said I supposed so. The next day she Fed-Exed something over to me, and I still have yet to open it. I'm just a little leery of anyone who will argue over any idiom. She's so difficult at parties.
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