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Strange Baggage

The pussy he had chatted up all night had pussied out. The blow guy had blown him off. The bouncer had bounced his ass. Out on the street, the wind from the river was rocking him with the stench of the city. A pile of pylons on the blacktop. Hilarity. It's amazing what's funny to the wasted mind. A pile of pylons. Piled pylons. He giggled himself silly. He wasn't taking home that blonde tease. He wasn't going all night on powdered drugs. He was claiming a prize. Over the shoulder an orange cone, his lover and debaucher for the night. This was New York, and he never had to sleep alone.

"Strange Baggage"
12" x 12"
s
10 November 2007


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