Valley of the Trolley Dollies

Someone always ends up hurt,

Broken and afraid.

Still, we tell the piper play

Though he’s not been paid.

Your baggage is a wife and child

I have my own shit

So the music starts; we dance.

No good can come of it.

d-2, and, oooh look: it’s a new piece of fiction. Once again, a rather short piece, but there’s enough in here to make me both laugh, and go hmmm, this might go soemwhere interesting.

Steam

“For this, you shaved your asshole?” Patrick surveys the half empty lounge area. Apart from Federico, the (straight) Yugoslavian (”Former Repoobleek Macedonia, pliss”) barista, the congregants do seem a little … lacklustre. There’s a duo of Big Black Boys. That’s Big as in Fat, as opposed to prison-style muscle-bound hunks, Black as in the colour Ms Ross used to be, and Boys as in ‘Not quite manly,’ a cute youngster an older, naked, gent lying flat on his back, his flaccid, yet still scarily elongated dick flopped carelessly on his left thigh, his half open mouth and general lack of movement making me fear we’ve got an unusual type of stiff, and us: A straight and a homo, neither one entirely comfortable with the situation.

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Earthquakes, disaster, the credit squeeze in the states, the sub-prime and mortgage disaster looming around the world. All are good things if you;re in the financial industry; for when something’s going down the pan (or rocketing into the stratosphere), there’s money to be made.

No, what terrifies Investment Bankers is when what’s called ‘volatilty’ (ie stuff happening) does what’s called ‘flat lining’ (ie nothing whatsoever is happening). Because then, the chances of making money are nil.

So, with this in mind, and aware that it’s that time of the year when  not a lot happens, I’ve penned a little ditty (no, Carl, not a euphemism)…

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