“Peter took a deep breath. 'Really, Mother! Anyone who blows pink bubble in front of a Picasso Blue painting should be arrested.”

“Picasso had his pink period and his blue period. I am in my blonde period right now.”

“Rose took my nose, I suppose,” he repeated; the bubble of phlegm in his throat made a disgusting crackle. “And it really blows.”

“Picasso.” He whispers like a priest. “Picasso. Who saw the truth. Who painted the truth, molded it, ripped from the earth with two angry hands.”

“Peter took a shuddering breath. He wondered what his fish had thought, expecting the cool blue of the sea, only to wind up swimming in shit.”

“The first thing I saw was the pink bubble gum, four feet lower than it should have been, inches above the ground, and framed by a set of perfectly painted lips.It was one of those huge bubbles you just know is going to pop and cover the girl's face, and she'll shriek and yell and whine that her makeup is ruined, blah, blah, blah. But the bubble didn't pop—she did that thing where you suck all the air back into your mouth, and the bubble deflated into a little pink heap.”