The city possessed pavements so downtrodden, feet felt they were legless waders. Indeed, the cellars did a roaring trade in under-soles, while cosy basement squatters tipped their dimpled jugfuls in sozzled salute. But, eventually, when a beauteous power-skirt stork-legged above - one with plenty to flaunt - the downed-in-mouths could not raise their see-through eyes from unsparkling deeps. Too many black tears. Three jeers. Hip, hip, hip-joint. At least lachrymals proved cheaper than Stateless water.

published 'End of the Millennium' 1997