Tonight's forecast calls for more sourness.Sourness does not speak before the lesson.
(Oh joy to see you too.)
Fidgets, fumbles. I am about seven feet away so that the vortex might not reach me.
There is some progress, some pieces remain a tangle of notes. With as much objectivity that I can muster, I state that some improvement has taken place.
(Is anyone uncomfortable here? We are not here in truth.)
She lies again. I counter with what the department head said she said. She weasels.
Then more going through the motions. I say that class is over.
Without a sound, she leaves.
Sourness goes with her.
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