Turning upon the incendiary maple, coming down on an avenue of triumph. Hitting the kerbs with my new street sweepers, modelling my hips on the alpha nerd. Lips close tight on immediate gum. I’ve got a fistful of angry bleeps. Hiding noxious jugs under op-shop jackets, entrance to the club is a necessary bore. Fake mist spat out of faker speakers. Monkeys climb stacks to bellow injustice. Here in the city of Fero it’s icy. Just ask the cab driver before you pass out. Melodious treacle sets the temperature bleating. Anarchy core is a pre-made fact. Turbo boosters propelling windshields into unobjecting masses of turgid rap. Tear out the postcodes, summon my raptors. Edible shrimp plastic anoraks. Sickening blows over dinner swap meets. Candy blossoms on the faraway streets. Include your numbers in all correspondece. Mine are 34, 4566 and 711. Call me. I’m out. Some serious error occurred deep in my mind-wipe and I’m currently cynical as to the make-up of glass. He threw a leftie at innocent lamplights. Suburbs suffer under the irradiated glare. Pop-up consoles instruct the dim masses in the art of discarding underwear. Behind the garbage truck depot three men throw coins for an imaginary dare. Someone peeks out the window, with the lights on, then disappears behind a rapidly-falling shield. We remain on moderate alert for curfew steppers but don’t be surprised if the situation doesn’t change. Can you hear the whoop-de-whoop? That’s my angel, watching over the bears. Meanwhile, in the republic of our consciousness, fury beats a crippled monk. It’s not your fault that you weren’t there. In the corner of my eye a dumpster diver. Time for your innoculation. Embrace the warmth of the wooden floor. Rise, ferocious ones, rise like damp. The city is full of us – fistfights galore.