Little did he know, this shabby but sincere Father Christmas, beacon of hope in our darkest days, when pestilence and depravity prowled the streets of New York, and discarded syringes pricked under the threadbare soles of our shoes, while rats in London scuttled in a filthy torrent over the stinking mound of accumulated trash, and gangsters quietly tortured their victims under a naked lightbulb in dank cellars, punks snarling at passers-by and spitting out a song with no future. Little did Father Christmas know, the thoughts this boy was powerless to resist, as he sat perched on the man's broad thigh.
Posts
