Out of all the many, many people who saw the events that occurred at number forty-eight Durgallary Road, at the Western end of Reichenstag in greater Heitghur, the third Saturday of January in a leap-year

Obsession and irrelevance and the terrible noise, herded by ruminant guile, away from sorrows that sting with familiarity. Countless aches, countless fractured footsteps, tapping out a melancholic

Worth is the name of the fiend that stalks me, lingering gaily in the shadows beyond irreproachability, where Calamity and Caprice play erratic roulette, jacket lapels the colour of throttling rage. The