sordid lifestyles of the poor and indiscriminate

as Billy clambored up the hill he sought that basic dignity that all humans desire to obtain before dying.  He thought about the soft hand that he fell asleep on in the western side of an old building on Morris street.  Billy was a murderer, but he was very well mannered and cooked well.  He thought about deep things.  In fact his thoughts were so deep that he sometimes felt he was drowning.  Billy was a terrible slut, the kind that would fly through a donut in orgasmic ecstacy.  But he was a nice boy.  He shot for gold but ended up with tin.  Billy was influenced by Futurism but he thought it was all too heavy and why drive cars fast?

Essentially he borded up his dreams with a Massonic hammer and traded the extra nails for pornographic candy he found in Mrs.Atckin’s sweater vest.  Billy was the kind of kid who would get right up your nose, but he always brought his books back to the library on time and he never complained when his sister got the choice portion at dinner time and all he got were smelly beans.

Billy climbed over the fence and took a seat on the pole.  Things were looking up it seemed.  He wasn’t bored, but he was a hell of a kid.  Billy was like a pie eyed pigeon that shat all over the city, but he was so considerate when talking to his elders.

He looked out over the city with a wild surmise.  It was time to get washed up and peel the potatos, but he decided to take just a few more minutes and ruminate on the girl he had met.  She was dressed in a wrong fitting lycra dress suit and smelled like onions, but he was in love and would give her the pop tin sunglass case he had built, but he couldn’t find her and decided to go home.

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