Word: wetness
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...beauty out of a telephone pole, the cresent of a car top, and a nubbly expanse of sand. Bill de Palma's black-and-white picture of a black billboard, a line of trees, two parked cars and a man in an overcoat holding a paper cup, beside a wet-haired kid wearing sunglasses, is a display of visual acuity remarkable for its simplicity, poise and verve...
...city's industrial belt has one of the worst crime rates in the Boston area. Much of the vacant land at the Simplex site has been used as a dump. In addition, MIT has leased property to the state for drug clinics, halfway houses, mental health rehabilitation centers, and "wet drops" for alcoholics...
...sticky day and his t-shirt was wet with sweat. He chose to forego the thick air, so he stayed prone and parched until he felt stiff and starched. Consider the limit as n approaches infinity...if n is infinitely far away, what of 2n? A sticky question, so take instead the limits to growth...when does a less developed country become developed? When does mortality end and force begin? Sketch the graph. Draw the line. Are martyrs altruists or egoistic hedonists at heart? But it all harks back to the distinction between Nazism and Hitlerism--if, in fact...
Within her party, she faces problems. Her Cabinet is seriously split between her own brand of doctrinaire Tory ideologues and the more pragmatic traditional conservatives. Cabinet meetings are often prickly. Ministers who make a weak case or are deemed "wet" (spineless) are sharply chastised. In extreme irritation, Thatcher has a habit of slapping her palms against the green baize tabletop. In the House of Commons, her majority of 43 harbors rebellious, hard-line backbenchers who demand tougher restrictions on trade unions and more ruthless cuts in public spending...
...MOON over the Mather House courtyard would delight Samuel Beckett as it dodges behind thick black clouds during this outdoor production of his existentialist tour-de-force, Waiting For Godot. By play's end, it nestles out of sight, casting an appropriate bleakness over a wet and shivering audience. The sky matches Beckett's play in its inability to illumine. The stage slipped between Mather House's cement blocks stands bare of even the smallest of miracles. No leaves flutter on the lone tree that cowers behind a tiny desert. A flute echoes as the only sign of regeneration when...