“RaceSome bite from the others A leg an arm or whatever Take it between their teeth Run out as fast as they can Cover it up with earth The others scatter everywhere Sniff look sniff look Dig up the whole earth If they are lucky and find an arm Or leg or whatever It's their turn to bite The game continues at a lively pace As long as there are arms As long as there are legs As long as there is anything”

“We kissed each other, long and deep, while my legs opened like the covers of a book.”

“My stories run up and bite me on the leg—I respond by writing down everything that goes on during the bite. When I finish the idea lets go and runs off.”

“Your father only has one foot on this earth. And really, really long legs . . .”

“And so taking the long way home through the market I slow my pace down. It doesn't come naturally. My legs are programmed to trot briskly and my arms to pump up and down like pistons, but I force myself to stroll past the stalls and pavement cafes. To enjoy just being somewhere, rather than rushing from somewhere, to somewhere. Inhaling deep lungfuls of air, instead of my usual shallow breaths. I take a moment to just stop and look around me. And smile to myself.For the first time in a long time, I can, quite literally, smell the coffee.”

“You found a dress?” he asked, smiling.“Yeah,” I wrapped my legs and arms around him. Tomorrow it’s going to be your turn to be freaked out.”“I’m looking forward to it.”