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gin drunk marie was at the peak of her sexual prowess
she knew she loved it, the gin, the men, the passionate nights without borders
it was 1930 and the only way to express yourself was through emotional conversation
there were no video games
only conversations at the cafe, the remarkable ambiance of the streets
where a man can drink a bottle or two of white wine and wander the crosswalks aimlessly
with no boundaries. People necking in the alley way with half a hand up her skirt. I am the Marquis. These words come from a vocabulary not quite as delicate as yours. I speak up, not down, and i fight with the Sartre's and the Camus's and Poulet.
I am trapped in a cell, all I'm allowed to do is write. It's strict policy. On every telemarketing wall.
Who will make more calls, who will make more profit, who will get the bonus, whose working for the CEO who stomps his suede shoes over the copy i just made. There's no coffee and I'm sent away. I didn't care. Just another bookmark for the needy.