crimped Eton, a starved hare. Hares and rabbits. Slap the arse of an ass, swinging its back legs turning knees to jelly. Bulbous bulbs so perfect, smelling of sweat, warm odour that runs down the throat. Though at a second glance it is a rather beautiful curve. The early day filled with exhaustion, twice, thrice. My repulsiveness only grew more since, untouchable perhaps only through payment or promise. The orb weaver is stood between the frame. Draped in her blue velvet reflecting in his tears. Weeps of joy and thrill. Perversion at its finest, the degradation of all that is built to protect.
As now steps are between the two, Doyle raises his voice: – I shall see Sudbury tomorrow!
Free to roam, the shop is closed tomorrow because Mr Cummings wants to skimp on our wages.
Money makes the world go around; the world go around, the world go around.
He is the archetype of all bankers. The bourgeois all squashed into one fat man. His father was just as rich, only less fat, and more giving, the riches not only weighed his pockets but also his soul. How typical. Money money money money.
The cigarette hangs loosely from the mouth, the fingers are tobaccofingersyellow, the very shade itself. Unpacked tobacco drips from the front as it wasn’ t rolled to the utmost perfection but it will do. The smoke rushes the mouth, drying the tongue, coating the gums in its very sap all the way back to the wisdom teeth, the fountains of knowledge they are. Curia Regis. The uvula tangoes with the smoke, a fleeting romance ending in the case of adultery, the lungs are bigger and better and the smoke takes a fancy. The fogginess, or rather grogginess, the foggigrogginess is reaching deep into the grooves of the brain and rummaging. Already it is over. The flame is down to the slim joints and the filter is now soft, flattened. The desire to light a new cigarette is already at the heart, yet it is too expensive, this tobacco is sacred and must be saved. Precious sack of leaf. Ormond Street, a dingy, over-casted tube. The bricked walls almost wrap completely, drawing closer and closer, narrowing the path. Facing the door is the Cotton Exchange, a selection of offices and conference rooms, lined with windows
38