Prelude to a New Setting

And slowly it began to soak up all of the spills on the counter. It began to soak up all of the raspberry juice until the mess was gone. There was a faint smooch of a raspberry mark left by the watered-down juice. But, the sponge had retained most of the drink. By letting go, it squeezed out all of the raspberry juice into the sink where it fell far into the drain. Many cleaners had de-filthed the drain before. Many liquids had poured into that hole. But, every time it was a juice... of sorts. Each time a different flavour. The counter began to look hazy and confuzed. It had been dying with different colours over the years; all overlapping to make brown stain marks. The original skin of the counter top was still bare, and never regaining thier full colour. The counter's original colour was too strong,howeer, noone could see what that colour was really. The songe felt empty again and waited for another accident; another squeeze. For someone to cry over a bloody mess! But before long the sponge noticed that the house was empty. Bareness. Though no cloth, no mop, no licked finger or bare ass had caressed itself over any part of the splintered and battered apartment, it was bare. The very dirty counter remined there with the spnge. Mould began to grow in the seams of the counter as a product of the moisture between the counter


and the sponge...


Meanwhile a pale, sandy coloured, and unmoving spinger dangled overhead. Crispy and crimped.

Smack on Some Glam

Gotta Be Somethin'

Who cares, huh? Nobody. This is life my dears. Piggish, garish, shit. In this theatre I am whatever I want. I want the past? It's back there. I want the black paint chipping away beneath my sore feet? Got it. I want embarassed eyes pounding over the person that I am? Fine. It's all here in this theatre. My boss wants ta change it? Fuck him.

Time to walk home and forget myself in this rain. Dry off at home and listen to what my house tells me each night. All it does is crack and moan; but, I like it.

The Coltsfoot presents...

Oopsies!! Didn't mean to Barge!

Left Foot First

The small town of Lundun is large at heartache, and cheap on demand. A mistress throws together a show once a week for the town on Coltsfoot Drive in a run-down theatre.

A voice from the roof of the theatre echoes:

"Presenting the laedae of the Coltsfoot Acdemy of Burlesque...

She ain't much but she's the best we've gat. She ain't pretty to look at but she has fun doin' for us. Her gimmick ain't lady like- but a laedae she is... we think!! Please show your partial respect for the mistress herself...

...Dolly Verstratn'!!"

She sits backstage in her dressing room, patiently devouring her lateness, and suckling on her pipe. The room fills with ash; and a pleasent, masculine scent. Her eyelashes heavily shawdow her eyes, leaving them half closed, like her thinly gapped mouth.

She does what she wants. When she's not doing that, she's doin' what makes her happy. In most cases; where her passion lies.