Won't somebody buy my ironmongery?

A Crossbreed
Originally uploaded by Dolores Luxedo.

I have to make a living, you see. Pacing the streets, night after night, bearing fine examples of metalwork. A tin of rancid paint is upended, and we skip and slink among the drips. One by one, my companions are devoured by bees. I turn on my heel, and collapse on the spot, only to be carried from the slinky cocktail bar that we failed to get into. The ironmongery lost, and with memories of a battle with an octopus-like creature still fresh in my mind, we ascend the steps in a haze of memory and the working of time.

I think I have begun to find myself a danger to myself. And Dom, Dom is to blame. I have to make a living, you see. Stepping along Meat Street, a true life magazine furled in my hand.

I'm cold, I'm cold.

There there.