Peter has gotten a new job as a bookstore clerk from one to ten down by the river in a sunny little house. I've come to visit and I'm thumbing through a book of poems by Robinson Jeffers' brother. Incoherent but more interesting than this.
Out of the river rises a *** of a blob dripping with water and begging a yen. While he shivers I call him a louse and say This isn't Nippon, you! So off he roams probably back to his mother. He was a nut because he wasn't a fish.