After that you take the girl's clothes off. A person of low taste, more interested in himself than me. The Man on the Dump Day creeps down. The moon is creeping up. The sun is a corbeil of flowers the moon Blanche Places there, a bouquet.
Days pass like papers from a press.
The bouquets come here in the papers. The freshness of night has been fresh a long time. The freshness of morning, the blowing of day, one says That it puffs as Cornelius Neops reads, it puffs More than, less than or it puffs like this or that. One grows to hate these things except on the dump. One rejects The trash.