"Where? Deep inside a woman who's stacked like a movie star. Let's say she owns an exercise gym. Yeah . . . that's where it's sweetest." Jeff's roommate was bent over at the waist towel-drying freshly shampooed hair. "It says right here," Jeff said, ignoring Greg's worthless comment, pointing to a page in the book, "that 'It is life near the bone where it is sweetest.' I believe that." "Near the bone? What's that supposed to mean? Unless it's the pelvic bone he's talking about." He chuckled at his own sexist wit. "Henry David Thoreau said this. I don't think he was talking about a woman's anatomy." "Still. I don't get it. It's all mumbo-jumbo to me." Greg slung the damp towel over the back of a slouch-backed easy chair and plopped down in it. He hiked up one foot onto the lip of the cushion and began pulling at his toenails, ripping them off in slivers one by one. Jeff moved from the bookcases and lay down on the sofa. He propped the book on his chest so as to block the view of his roommate's disgusting hygiene habits.
