Last date within the womb; something
comes striving out. Perhaps one great
mistake, whatever it may be. The
suspense is the darling we live with;
like it's all together as one, as if it
matters. Anyway, I just had to ask:
'Have you put poison in my cup?
This all tastes so very weird. It's
not as if a random accolade is
headed your way, but many lethal
concoctions are made to taste like
mint. Unassuming. This then, you
say, is toothpaste I taste?'
Remember those lines? That was
the opener of Act III in some
miserable play by Hobarth. We
had to sit and listen, so we just
pretended to enjoy what we heard.