Night Soil

When I am lonely for human company I pull myself up by the bootstraps, - sometimes the suspenders - and start to prowl. And, spotting one, or two or more, depending on how many, just like me, need analgesic re-assurance. It's drugs or flesh then, is it. But flesh must not be foreign. A look, a wink, a salivating gesture, quite akin to tardive dyskinesia. Oh, would that I could see the world for what it is! And send my left brain out the back to count the money. While basic instincts start their feast without delay. Some great philosophers have stated that nothing is accomplished by delay. An opportunity that's missed becomes ill-fated, why would you climb the hills for gold that's on the streets. So, let the flashers lead you to their inner rooms, you'll find them empty but of bare essentials, there's money, yes but nothing else of value. Say yes to homebrand soap and bristle scrubber. 'It's money NOW, my man, you pay before you come, and time is money so start looking over here. I'm only making sure he's squeaky clean. So, let's stick him in with rubber on his head. And like the lady in the pay phone says while waiting: An extra fee is due for any extra minutes, though this is business, not some High School dating. So - signal when there's something liquid in it. If you need extras I have things available. I don't do violence and cannot guarantee to be as free of HIV as you would like. This ain't the movies, now I've got to pee. I see you did your duty, fellow in the 'nick of time'. That's what I call my box that boxed you in. Discard it there, right next to the syringe. 'Twas good to see you, always liked BIG men. ' What I've described is part of life. Although I cannot, for the hell of me see any man to choose a seat that, in the down position has been pissed and shat on. They say it's old and honoured, a profession that's stood the cruel and perpetual tests of time. As long as men are willing to partake of fermentation and soothing slime, with green and yellow flecks, there will be ladies of the night who will supply. So I decline in past, in present and in future. If I have needs they won't be drained from me by what a wise man once described as scum: Scum of the earth, he said and yes this scum is human. But still, I'm prowling now and wandering through the night. Remembering nothing of the past except its future, and wondering if there'll be a time that I say Heck and Yes to compromise. Perhaps a tiny island in a giant ocean, with me all by my lonesome. Long-term stranded. It might take years to finally yield to temptation on this island to myself.