How he becomes predictable.
I mean to the very word!
Á la the shirtless youth hooked up to an iPod
hooked up to his latest smoke. She’s a tart, too.
They’re all right, aren’t they?
Or the mommy whose cellphone gets caught in baby’s bun.
Baby doesn’t mind. He has creative explosion.
Yes, wittle boy wants his stwawbewwies without gwass, pweez.
What hour will he be getting out of the shower, anyway? We wait.
Whilst each day another tank-top floats casually into
The System;
its smooth skinless shades smurf the shadiest of skins.
A rare turn-on, Barbecue. And he says he had a
romantic evening.
Happy endings.
What a blur.
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