Corollary. See: “Rule.”:
…except where it’s supposed to be.
There’s a bar, see, where an ancient copy of the above poster is screwed to the wall, and there it has observed the pool players and drunken dancing girls in halter tops for ages from behind its dusty layer of plastic. The image was originally supposed to be all sex, sex, sex, but it just gives my friend Ginger the willies.

“I hate that thing!” she shouted again one night, and finally I asked her why.

In response, Ginger set her drink down, walked up to the poster and pointed to that weird space. The crevice. Which, the more you stare at it, becomes more crevasse than crevice. “Look at it!” she said, pointing to the faded, overexposed copy of poor Emmanuelle’s chin. “What is that? What is it supposed to be?!”

She was right. It was weird. Some sort of second mouth. A strange landscape where colonies of tiny people could dwell. No, X never was like this, I don’t think.