Nothing leads to no good business like an attractive
one who has zero knowledge of their air. Haughty and high,
they ripple along streets, grocery store lanes, your mother’s
funeral service. The nerve of these ghost-like flim-flam artists.
How do they dare? Proudly, of course. As all the comely do.
No care for the smile they wield or the hair equipped atop the head,
deadly as it is. And they gather squires by the bundle,
poor baby kids and squabs, farm animals undone by the impressive stomp
of the stallion. That is how the trouble begins. A soft, yielding creature
makes space for the sharply perfect. Then, a downhill tumble where you
(and everyone knows why) become a laborer for the love of that premier
being who looks at you, nods, and allows you to ferry their cargo. You oblige
free of charge.