Taste-testing
L tasted like liquorice.
Every stringy bit of him tasted bittersweet, like too much candy condensed. B liked him like that.
His toes tasted best, like gum drops and ivory. A rare specimen indeed. Very male; very pretty.
Contradictory.
B’s thoughts scrambled hitherto and fro over his blank-sweat-sweet canvas and painted in red nails and piercing shrieks.
L tasted best in salt.
Play on words
B was L inverted. A loop on the tape recording L’s life. He was blotch on the wall, watching through jagged gazes what L did, how L did it, and who L was.
Not that L ever showed him though. L was a master of masquerades himself and B, if he cared to look in a mirror rather than trying to become one, might see that in fact the image he wished to reflect was only an inversion of himself.
Double whammy….they were Wammy boys after all.
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