“Perhaps,” she said, “you find it difficult
living in a morally bankrupt and hate
filled nation,” the author had written
and the reader lowered the book down
to his lap and mumbled, “That’s right,”
feeling depressed which even the early
winter Arizona sun couldn’t alleviate,
so he decided to focus on using words
he found interesting and had circled from
the novel starting with chapter eleven
and use them in their order of appearance
in a sentence: So sangfroid, he persevered
in the face of the persiflage of human
nature which couldn’t stop him from
annealing those frivolous, youthful
traits and grow up as he sat under the
mansard roof inhaling the pungent
odors of the abattoir while the
patissiers stirred the pot for pastries
in the room next to him just before
he disported himself like a chicken
under an early winter Arizona sky
and then he lifted the book from
his lap and continued with chapter
thirteen.
Persiflage? Rather erudite.