This lump is unpleasant.
Sally saw an unpleasant lump lying in her breast.
In her Garden
In her yard
In her sink
in the tub
in the pool
in the ocean
In her little part of the sea.
She sold seashells by the sea shore, and she was not amused by the intrusive lump. It was not a blobfish, though that's what came to mind when she considered it.
It was stinky, like a carcass. She'd had enough of carcasses from the fishmongers who teased her about being hippie dippie seashell seller, but there were enough tourists in her seaside shanty that she could afford air conditioning and wifi, and it was nice wandering beaches in the mornings and selling shells all afternoon and evening. It was pleasant, unlike this lump.
She resisted the urge to prod it. She brought her foot close to it, but recoiled. Retreated. It didn't look like nothing. She expected it to be a fatberg or a dead jellyfish or oily goo, but it wasn't quite like any of those. It looked lumpy. A lumpy lump. Like someone's cellulite. Yes, more than anything, it looked like someone had taken a picture of cellulite, not knowing the context of a body, and extrapolated...this.