"Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me," said the pig-me to the

whore, desperate for more in his assault upon the mountain.

Little man, his youth a fountain. Overdrafted and still counting.

Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to where he came from.

In the doorway of the stars, between Blandford Street and Mars;

Proposition, deal. Flying button feel. Testicle testing.

Wallet ever-bulging. Dressed to the left, divulging the wrinkles of his

years.

Wedding-bell induced fears.

Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her resistance.

International assistance flowing generous and full to his never-ready tool.

Pulls his eyes over her wool. And he shudders as he comes -

And my rudder slowly turns me into the Marylebone Road.