I'm open line for girls. Came up on a wonderful, I cant 'old out song, I went with a lass thrown at the motorway adverts, the billboards, shook like, they could bring out thunder. I'm in women's nowhere land. Common chaos did another old one.  The last hounding of that other girl, the first one, always the first. So like not the wind, this windy way, the poison on me, pathetic and scanned by a policeman wit h a red laser gun pointing in my eyes. I got frumped, held by the skin of my shoulder, and directed away from traffic. I ended dribbling, and knocking up the glass window of the Chinese takeaway girl.

Remember, if the brains like a football, the jumps have worked, gave a job to a vague, cannot read, but for everyone equal man.

She saw me drink and wanted me to spit. Still gliding round the bridge, at the motorway, going into city. Hung around a bus, until the pink evening turned up the gas, and smogged up the byways, with the chattering bumping, clattering sound of every vehicle in city existence.

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Chuck, chuck, cough, cough. The dirty wind of the sea soaked man, someone replies then the television. Things or wind mate, to even and to hold, me, think.

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End of evil sessions. When FUCK is sounding on the radio, and they are all too much lacking in emotion, to switch off. It's sounding, I can see, Hate. Hate a bulldozer, I didn’t want to be called anyway, and say I shut down, weapon town for war.