Maribell thought about how she hated the way Feldman spent more time in the mirror than she did, and the disgusting way he slurped his soup, just like...their flappy jowled bulldog, Walter, slurping at his water bowl. She bear down on him with all her body weight, her knees planted firmly on his chest, her freshly manicured toenails digging into his groin for leverage. Feldman thought back to his days on the wrestling team in high school and he could almost hear coach Brawley screaming. "You know, I don't think I'll need it, not now," she replied. Smiling again, she left.Susan giggled. "Just two 'you knows, '" she said. "And six, no seven, sentences. Wow." Smart-ass," I teased her."It is, actually," she responded in kind. "Ooh, maple." Huh?" I just sat down on your French toast; that's the flavor." Yuck," I said. "Sit down on your own damn food." I will if I ever get an ass to sit down on again," she said, suddenly sour."Come on, baby," I cajoled. "Don't start that again. Just. More

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