The apartment was quiet, the TV in the corner recently dead, though the cheers of the Euro 2012 still hung in the air, like embers after a fire. The GF looked at him. What are you reading? she asked.
Terse. Makes Hemingway seem verbose.
Could use some red elvises though.
He smiled, rubbing sleep from the corner of his eye.
Sure I guess.
Later that night, an unspeakable act of violence showed man’s basic inhumanity to man. Somewhere, a critic ejaculated.