Black hill bulging on the north head - city streets burning bourbon glow along the surface. Bringing a blistering wind from the southeast, stinging thin skin and whistling between the leaves. The stars ***** the papery grey cloud layer. Company bursts the pockets of air: supple bubbles, broken under heavy water poured for drowning in, from the glands of hedonists and socialites all round, alright, aloud, alight, a hound, a beast of the night, sinking into the black thick tar, slicked with scotch, burning, hoarding the air above him.