‘I’ll trade you one broken promise in mint condition for five nasty splinters. Or I can do a gross of bitterness, say, for ten flesh wounds. How deep? A quarter inch max. No? Not even with a rusty blade?

‘Well how about three cartons of despair still in their original boxes, let’s say, for twenty paper cuts each, administered consecutively. No?

‘Now here’s a steal you can’t resist: one awful truth for a train-load of bruises. Can you swing it? No? What if I pay shipping?’

Gary LeBel