He stood there. Naked. Head down, arms on the chest. And waited. For those white icicle shards to tear him, as he knew they would. For aeons, hesitant, he stood. Mustering up his will. And he finally turned the knob, anticipating the chill. And it came, almost as if to kill. Long, thin, sharp, cold and white, straight for the chest. And just one single thought dominated his head. When will the freaking geysers start working? *** The other solution, which most people have used is to stop bathing.
Weirdness lies within ... And so do all the internal organs ... But the real question is,
is that statement of any consequence?