He opened his mouth, and George's voice emerged. "This place is..." He
stood with his mouth open, while inside him, George
thought. "*Incredible.* I'd never..." He closed his mouth, then opened
it again. "*Dreamed*. What a..."
Now Ed spoke. "Jesus, figure out what you're going to say before you say
it, willya? This is just plain --"
"Rude," came Fede's voice from his mouth.
"I'm sorry," came George's voice.
Ed was working on his suspenders, then unbuttoning his shirt and
dropping his pants, so that he stood in grimy jockeys with his slick,
tight, hairy belly before Alan. He tipped himself over, and then Alan
was face-to-face with Freddy, who was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of
boxer shorts with blue and white stripes. Freddy was scowling comically,
and Alan hid a grin behind his hand.
Freddy tipped to one side and there was George, short and delicately
formed and pale as a frozen french fry. He grabbed Freddy's hips like
handles and scrambled out of him, springing into the air and coming down
on the balls of his feet, holding his soccer-ball-sized gut over his
Hulk Underoos.
"It's incredible," he hooted, dancing from one foot to the other. "It's
brilliant! God! I'm never, ever going home!"
"Oh, yes?" Alan said, not bothering to hide his smile as Frederick and
George separated and righted themselves. "And where will you sleep,
then?"
"Here!" he said, running around the tiny apartment, opening the fridge
and the stove and the toaster oven, flushing the toilet, turning on the
shower faucets.
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