a summer story
Right now Doug decides to pull back the dressing on his ulcer for a looksee, and the swollen wound swallows half his hand before some babe wearing a black lace hanky strolls past, all silky wobble and perve. We observe the moment with a tranquil and hormonal grief as Ken retires into the dank shadows for another piss. Five an hour is the usual but who’s counting.
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