: Tom Waits
"What is the catch?" - You asked
"I've ran out of twenty two tricks, all the beers and none the ice. When a Queen is missing, no Kings shall be crowned." - Me
Now, anybody could win this game you said but I'm gonna keep the fake trophy anyway (of which already brimming with tears of our collective rues and rages from bleak yesteryears) and for the moment let's try keep growing that woefully witherelant on the sill of sixhundred and twentyeight window of that one ugly brown unnamed motel by the west rainbow highway with a busty lady in maroon at the reception that might offer you happy slot shall you want one (for a 50 she's more than fine). I mean nevermind the noise, all I'm saying is let's wait until the root of that pitiful plant could finally taken agrip (I'm not hopeful either) inside that cracked pot full of dirt – only then you might want to ask me again; what the fuck is the catch? But hey, be warned for I would still have no tricks left up my sleeve. You can keep the cards and give me all the Aces 'cause nobody is winning anything since forever and you know what, I don't really care anymore. Truth be told, I've exchanged the last damn trick for a copy of banal Bukowski's poetry book brought by one lousy clown from that creepy carnival life circus of the past Lent, truly. Also, love is never a dog from hell but it's actually demonic white beast of yesterday's morfin and I'm now at the last packet, fuck-!