Perspiration is a niggling nuisance chimerical

bellyflop.

No sweat, to count a worn and torn trite phrase whose mint has lost its flavour, fragrance, fashion.

The green tint has lost its glint on that one in the eyes of Trevor.

Trevor who he, another salad toss of an idiom the stuff of sitcoms and daily whimsy instantly identified as how to sustain the jerk and jolt of dangle tangle 

“RAPT”-ITUDE 

So cold as iced milk an expression proximate to an overfrozen dessert.

Trev, as a cheeky brazen short form wouldn’t under standard barometers of accustomedness  be quite spontaneous or gold medal first to raise objections on his behalf.  

Did I say Trevor whinges about noisy neighbours and what a pest they can be?

They could interpose when least expected.

“There’s so much hot air from them.

And mind you some of them aren't that hot!”

Tina, his sidekick KICKED IN  because she got her KICKS from that type of caper.

“Do we have this obsession with air conditioners and ceiling fans?”

This aspect of the story will be referenced later.

Dubiously and perchance dodgily his eclectic next door types were a catchall composite,

 had this common sense in a discommoding crisis bag of tricks remedy or done in a dash wily quickness of hand solutions that may or may not have that solid seal sense of permanence in a long-coveted latitude.

Part One