Loki, the Norwegian god of mischief, sends out a lithesome blonde with
a slinkiness that ravishes the libido. She presses her dream-like form
against the windowpane. The night is soft about the city's lights.
Water cascades in the distance, while small, black crickets' shovel
sounds around pricked ears. The diminished man ignores this, instead
busying himself with drawing lions on a vast sheet of blank paper.
There is no word for happiness in the Malawi tongue and this disturbs
him. What far reaching implications for the people of Africa.
He stands and downs a drink to ease his parched mouth. A moisture ring
blurs one of his lions, and, again, he will lose the battle against the
king of beasts tonight.