onan_don DannyH Some empty spaces are reserved for the blank meanderings of the wolves of wasted time. They slaver and masticate but can never truly be full in their bellies and contented in their hearts. They lollop on and on through the undergrowth snapping the legs off newborn babies and declaring music to be the highest form of self abuse. It is not by accident that the walls of their homes are painted deep block colours like the ones you find in pots at school. These do not like to mix their hues. So on they run and never find anything except ice-cream and sand to make them happy. The bandleader is after them, he has the speed but not the stamina to keep up with them. They will never stop, if they did they would fall asleep and be picked apart by the parasites that lurk inside every crevice of their brightly lit caverns. Moths, dung-beetles, wasps, pigeons, all would feed on their carcases if ever they let the lids fall on their bloodshot eyes for so long as a second. They are exhausted, ravenous, sweaty but they cannot rest and they will not, for desire burns stronger in them than fatigue. Just. 010804 ... . . 041020 what's it to you? who go blather from