The loose old geezer always likes to keep a couple of young cunts lingering. Fixed on bad juice and heavily addicted, he feeds them his insidious cock on the nightly, maintaining their high as he slowly erodes their sinus, arteries and self esteem. Keeps his dead relatives in a boarded room. On the blood moon he drags them out and forces his bitches to perform depraved sex acts on their dusty bones and brittle, mummified flesh. He’s got a heart of gold and little empathy. None of his victims are unwilling. They have no scruples. Their price is another name for a bad daddy. Others watch from the sideline, commenting on locked boxes and drawing portraits of the primitive man, but the old cock crows the rising sun, and who knows another man’s tale but the author and the scribe. Their little red nipples sharp as glass cutters on cold surgery doors. They trace the fable of his fertile sodomy in ragged etchings. Hieroglyphs with wet rosetta stones by which decode the sordid vices of a pure hedonist with a penchant for the affectionate anal exploration of the willing. Twitching twats and a moral code gone slack which gathers at the ankles lapping high heels like shadows on a shoreline of supple skin.