August 3, 2015:
Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronze foil.
Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, men's beery piss, the stale of ferment.
Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her lemon streets.
Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.
Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the ground, moves to one great goal.
To never see thy face again.