The Plasticman always rings My Lovely, every Wednesday at midnight. It is the same ending to every conversation, “Bats eat the fish bones of time“. It doesn’t matter now. I got my heater and he’s going to get a Harlem Gooseberry in his smiler before sunrise. Tooting the wrong ringer will get him a twist and crackle, and then he will jump like a flame in a tango bar. Once I’m done, he’ll be ready for the darkroom scanner.
Trigger man takes slugs,
Trip for biscuits gone south fast –
fish bones stick down deep……