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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Like him, this Wild West city is in a slough, and it will sleep anywhere for filthy pleasure. Pellicles of scum lie around pimps’ digs. North-West nothingness. Just the click of an erect gun for music. (And he likes to sing along. And he likes to shoot his gun.) Smokefall, nightfall, dawn; nights watching mute water trudge on, aqua sea-foam shame. It will soon run dry, like the spit on his tongue. With the lights out, it’s less dangerous, Here we are now, entertain us.