He demands drugs to make his cock bigger. I hope I am not given that authority. It wasn't in the job description. A nervous charcoal bomb shelter. Wads of rolling papers.
Shrill voices draw echoing shadows into the hall.
Where's the office, I ask the one with teeth like toenails. He gums a wooden match and tugs baggy tuxedo trousers with his elbows like Jimmy Cagney. His fingers are foreskins. His scalp is blue. Everyone's gone to Joker's Wild with Jesus.