pounding fists upon the wooden bench;
furious shouts across the stampede of
argument. Eyes glitter with rage, and faces
redden with exertion. Pockets feel emptier than
this time last month; ideas for rolling coins keep
heads up and mouths open. listless eyes, glazed
from years of feeding, peer from beneath the
ludicrous pile of white straggles, and careless mouths
part to spill out the meaningless dribble of reason.
bulging stomachs pour from the tightened pinstriped
waistline as all rise for the lord of this house of lunacy.
And what is this place; this filthied den of deceit and greed?
why, the House of the Justice of the Peace, of course.
Icthus
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