Under a bare bulb, sinking slowly into blank pages and white walls, Talk along the wireless phone line. Come get me tonight, the lights of the city becon bright with filthy ferocious radience, reflected by rainwater crowned by rainbow oil slicks cascadeing down through sewer grates. To escape the peeling white walls and walk free on cracked concrete, the night calls with the shreiking laughter of chemically enhanced bar patrons. To join them, standing shoulder to shoulder at the corner while the man pours dreams into a glass with ice. The little umbrella, thats the best part.
