The thunder of their rage, and boystrous struggling, make The neighboring Forrests round affrightedly to quake:

Green-hatted doormen awaken the eve in statuary-niched yellow lobbies— zephyrous canyons brightlit, gray stone Empire State too small to be God lords it over sweet Macy’s & Seafood City by junkie Grant Hotel

Translation pedagogy is still in its infancy, and is in need of substantial theorisation.

... if we lay doggo where we was, Jerry might miss us ...