Word: slung
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George W. Bush knows the question is coming. He is sitting in the back of a silver Ford Windstar minivan, his compact frame unfurled across the bench seat, his left arm slung across the backrest. He appears completely relaxed, but when the question arrives--the one about whether he has the intellectual wherewithal to be President and whether it bothers him that this issue keeps being raised in the campaign--his body tenses. He turns his face forward, his eyes narrow, and he gazes out the windshield at the long road ahead. "You know," Bush says, his voice tinny...
...expansive, gleaming copper bowl tilted jauntily to a side and the drumhead stretched taut over its opening suggest hidden depths of bouillon--of boiling meats and vegetables. The common name for the timpani is, not surprisingly, the kettledrum. Originally a military instrument, primitive versions of the timpani were slung over the backs of horses in cavalry units and, aside from their practical uses in battle, often served in processions and other public events as a sort of status symbol...
Senior Joe Brussel, with his purple Burton backpack slung over his right shoulder, cell phone clipped to his tan cargo shorts, strolls into Frank Mandernach's advanced auto-mechanics class--late but relaxed. The rest of the class is already in the lab room, watching a student take apart a 1987 truck engine. Joe makes eye contact with Mandernach, settles into a chair out of sight of most of his classmates and pulls out a notebook. "Sometimes Mandernach just lets us get organized," he says. For the rest of the period, Joe stays to himself, his mind far away from...
...pays with bills from a silver plastic wallet. Beth comes over and hands her a glass of water. "Mambo Number Five" plays on the loudspeaker, and Carrie bops her shoulders and beats a pattern on her leg with one hand. Beth wiggles her hips; the spikes on her low-slung belt jut from side to side. Neither smiles...
...producer, Steph Adams, speaks into his headset, telling the backstage guys to yeah, just try it again, with the edgy tone of a man whose job consists of placating a perfectionist. No good. Jobs jogs halfway up the aisle and slouches into a center seat, his legs slung over the seat backs of the next row. "Let's keep doing it till we get it right...