Can't even give me Rocky Horrror ticket away!
The ick hath become a dry racking cough. I don't want to annoy theatregoers with decibel volumised chesty exhalations of a plegmy nature, and a warm dry theatre may well not be beneficial to esophagusial expulsive emissions.
But.. nayone will take it off me grubby mitts... and it's not even in my mitts, it's in the mitts of someone else.
So I'm sat in the cool, fresh air outside Starbucks hoping nature helps the airwaves and combats the ick.
Although the smokers smoking smoke in me face and ash into me latté may not be helping.
But it's a prime place to perve at passing Pretties... although I've already been blanked by The Phwoarder, and pretty sure that Love And Light strode past without a glance too.
Oh well, c'est la vi.. hrrrrrrgh bleurgh coughitty splutterage...
On second thoughts, perhaps it's best passing Pretties prefer to pass Xym, for one would not want to appear as a plague ridden leper lecherously leering at ladies!
