A Different Type of Matter

From Retch's perspective, just having seen that damn thing on her finger was poor. And the fact that it was frigging blooming, for Christ! I mean, hell, folks/truth be known, it was almost as if the sun had had its own frigging butt-crack opening floundering and stumbling kerplunkingly. Of course, for Retch to have had such a hankering for his own sniffer to sense it so/dutifully, you really do have to wonder about him, too. I sure as hades do.