Five and Seven
Fifty-Seven.
Two becomes one.
Twenty-one.
Key of the door
no more.
Who remembers?
Maggie's Den
Number 10
"Get her out."
Shout
"Shake yer balls up."
Eight and Seven
Gates of heaven.
Eight and Nine
Dementia time.
False call.
Collective groans.
Empty purses.
Doorstep loans.
Bloke at the bar
likes
her scent.
If she marks his card
he’ll
pay her rent.
Brandy and Babycham?
Ah, go on!
No one
gives
a
damn.
The white-coated crab man
enters
basket in hand, with
bags of pork scratchings
that taste like sand.
Top of the shop
Filthy mop.
"Av, yer got any muscles on yer cock”.
Dirty
Gertie.
Flirty Thirty.
Two and six
Twenty-six
"Was she worth it?"
Moonlight flit.
Love and kisses.
Oooh er missus!
What a carry-on.
The game is almost
done.
Another house
another line
another time.
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