An emaciated whore eyed him as he entered, a stringy sloe-eyed **** with false teeth and a razerous pelvis beneath the thin dress she wore.
He surveyed his face in the mirror, letting the jaw go slack, eyes vacant. How would he look in death? For there were days this man so wanted for some end to things that he'd have taken up his membership amount the dead; all souls that ever were, eyes bound with night.
I'm back to sleeping outside in the garden. Far too hot in that house for me. Sun lounger and sleeping bag it is.