Chrome splashback, retroactive flashback

Sitting on aluminum chairs and brushed chrome tables with gays on rooftops. Same old sexual terraceists. Sipping on white wine spritzers under moonlit, fairy lit, sky down spits.

Talk of loving sex and sexing up love and life and age and how you'll never be happy because you are too "happy" in another way meaning you can't procreate. Can't nurture, can't teach, can't pass on your legacy, can't have someone to care for you when you're old and don't know what can't is and when there is no-one to lift your legofftheseat.

Worth it though. Money, penthouse, chrome in the kitchen, sharp corners, sexy floating steps, cream carpets, death traps, lots more chrome..no crayon on the walls, right? Stainless steel means the painless is real.

I only eyedrink the pint in front of me as I have to watch my figure. Six packs are needed to make sure you can find a man to love you within the clean white walls of your pristine chrome penthouse...forever. So you're not alone. And you're not alone in thinking that, or thinking you're alone. Muscles don't last, they make good fishing hooks though, flie fishing I think they call it. The drink tasted bitter anyway, but a deeper, stronger bitter than just in my mouth. It ran along the back of my tongue and right down my throat reaching every part of me. A steely bitter, a mouth and a future full of metal.