Saalito and the stiletto vengeance.

I have stopped like a folded clock, a break down habit. The type where the city falls out of the stars and all the tyres are flat. That was his effect, the hand that takes and slaps. Twice Full of knuckles and dusters and points of fact. The point worn black. She walks on wearied slippers and pointed toes. The things she knows fall back and bite in shadow. Old world games. The bruising facts . I don't know when he bit, or how; but the rope was slipped like a knotted chain. Fixed fast upon hope forgotten hope. A fragment blocked. Ah the throttle of the choke. MB