When her lips pulled back to reveal the vast steppes of her immaculate dentistry
FROM the street, the place had looked modest. The paint was stained and blistered by damp. A tree pressed ominously and expensively against the ageing plaster. In retrospect, it was an easy mistake to make.Even when I knocked on the front door, next to the “On Show” board, there was no hint of what I was about to walk into.But then the door opened, and I saw the estate agent‘s teeth, and I realised I was in terrible, terrible trouble.They weren‘t just teeth. They were…lord, how to describe that moment when her lips pulled back to reveal the vast steppes of her immaculate dentistry? Imagine a keyboard, without the black notes. Of a church organ. In Saint Peter‘s. Just row upon row, hundreds, possibly thousands, of perfectly even, blindingly white incisors.“Welcome!” she said, and the teeth caught the light, flayed it, and nailed its corpse to the wall.There‘s that moment in the spy movie where a desperate man finds himself in a bar in Berlin at midnight, anxiously sucking on a cigar...
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