He had thin fingers, long nails, porno playing cards of males, cigarette yellow digits, slim lips, grey reebok classics, five kids. Cuts a gaunt figure, with a wheeze heaves cheap fags, tows jazz mags in plastic bags. Goads pigeons with visions of the End Of Days, He strides the pavement, an upward vagrant in an Eau-De-Unwashed type fragrance. Slips his eyes to the Sixth formers, folds a wry wink on his libido’s orders. Dripping in desire track-suited, A grim grin skins his face, noting down numbers from phoneboxes to a burger receipt from McDonalds. ”Sexy massage“ or rent boys, A breadth of choice.
Collection: Different Strokes of Strife