"What are we gonna on the bed?" I The ponk hurled me heard myself say onto his soiled through the pain that fogged my bedsheets like I consciousness. Even was nothing but one of the sacks of in the gr

"What are we gonna
on the bed?"
I
The ponk hurled me
heard myself say
onto his soiled
through the pain
that fogged my
bedsheets like I
consciousness.
Even
was nothing but one
of the sacks of
in the grip of my
4
concussion,
I knew
dope he and his
it had been a waste
iil
thugs concealed in
of breath.
the disused city
warehouses.
I knew god-damn well
what we were going
to on the bed.
The displaced air in
the mattress came
out in a stinking
"pomf", as if the
Devil himself was
giving a
noncommittal sigh at
the sordid act about
to take place.
A
4A
5.