Dry Gin as the solution of the nightly bat questions. Very dry gin. Ice cubes were the decoration. Young bodies, little sweaty. The soft sound of the music of the stereo made you squirt a thousand times, before we even touched. Surrounded with people where talking is just a simple act of decorate plants and airplanes.

„Today is a very big day.“
„Why, did you order me a whore?“

The prude life got disused. We’re hippies , ego-hippies. Electrosounds are the new Bands, the new Beatles now play in plastic cables right out of a board full of little knobs.
Life is so individual that money let you die alone. You’re a good manager. Fucking good. I fucked your wife and ate your food asshole. Your kids love me more than you.

He lay down on the grass, his clothes right under the immense Box. Was dancing all the time before, extremely slim guy, every muscle moving, skin followed direction of his movement. Then he went down. Time to relax he thought. His hair was cut as it was accidentally happen that way. He was around thirtyfive or so, it’s a cheap guess. He was a good dancer by the way, an egoshaker, no way that he wants to dance with anyone else. Just him and the beats. Freaky guy. He was talking to himself while throwing his arms with the rythm of the music in the air- and down. Anyway, he got down to his self-constructed pillow. His body was like a single shock. His limbs were moving while his eyes were closed. The drugs kept him going on instead of giving him sleep. He got up again. Looked around, saw the people and saw nothing. His eyes were empty. It made not difference for him, if people or plants sourrounded his place of beats. He got up and let his limbs dance.

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