The Pipes Man was fucking born to do it. The world’s forgotten boy; king of doing it. He just wasn’t doing it right now, and there wasn’t much to him aside. He was a flightless hawk. Or a toad that don’t hop.
Recently ‘it’ just hadn’t worked out for him and he didn’t have much appetite to disappoint himself further. A shiny upgrade might fix it… no. No. Ok then how?
‘Fuck it. Just turn something upside down, put it inside out… I’ll do it with my eyes closed,’ he thought.
The Pipes Man wittingly discredited himself with every slap of the shutter, each shot another wart upon his back.
Eventually, he stopped his self-flagellation to assess the damage. Actually, warts and all, might there be keepers here?
