You will never read this. If you did, you would instantly fall in love with me again. Each letter was soaked overnight in a 90% proof voodoo potion, spirited out of New Orleans. By the end of this sentence, all the words would rain down on you, like a shower of beads from a frilly balcony. Then you would be mine, for ever. You will never read this.
One thought on “The Man Without Quality Streets”
I was going to “like” but it seemed somewhat obscene. The idea is there though.