night stroking the toes of the asphalt, dark and zahflüssig seeping blood, thickened fingers, wishing to join tingly just a fist. The whispering heat wolllüstig like a toothless concubine, clings to sticky-pulsing meat, ausdünstet the lavish life rosy, strokes and caresses the body, which commandeth to preserve a little cranky to the armpits distance. As if the spirits, ancestors, previous lives knit a nest in the warm wind, lying in wait to seize on the trot in silence ends, the weary between dreams and thoughts would be made. The bales splash on the steps, naked and black. In the hall you hear a light extinguished. And somewhere a dog barks.
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