A pack o' cunts. As we would say in those old days. Not that it really matters anymore... Can't see any more of it... All depleted... All censored.. Don't even have no noose to cull me own fuckin' hide. Didn't ask for much, got even less, only a sort of rining gratitude derived from some abdominal spirit who's breath is simular to that of a hogs. Can't play, couldn't play, could never be fucked with games... And language? She says... Didn't like that neither... Never really.. Words - so many to choose from, so un-particular, so undecided... Never really got the hang of it, but the rooting, worked that out all well and good, had her troubles, yes, she certainly did, a fair few tears thrown in with boil 'n' bubble, not the cup o' tea that any sensible person would want to drink from... But there she was, standing, no, sitting, as she always did, with the rain-drops turnin' yellow from her butt at her lips, little yellow streams runnin' down her chin... Pigs... Unlike the rest of us, unlike us, unlike them... They... Fuck 'em.
A dollar ain't by you much, but with luck she scoured herself a beer, had to fuck the bottle-keep, had to take him out the back and bend over, was like old times, remembered what it was, what it used to be, what it is... Now... Spose.... Not going back, not getting taken back, ain't gonna happen, no, not now, not ever, sworn that before, yeah, she always would, always have, always will. Pigs.