oscar’s eleventh chapter: tumbling toward happiness.

Shoes matching each other this time but still untied, Oscar shuffled down the street. Staring through the scorching black pavement toward China, he kicked a pebble that was beginning to resemble, if he looked closely, Venus de Milo. The naked one, with both arms, standing demurely in a big oyster shell by the sea. But now Oscar senses she’s wearing a slippery, seductive shift of vanilla oil, his favorite. The perfume’s lusty smack of ice-creamy bean oil and sweet suggestion snaps the waistband of his brain’s jockeys with a giggle.