Civvies It gave rubric and chair legs to the first hovering woman - a tiled underworld I cannot gain admittance to without my hooves. I'm just an angry patriarch. Bring Girls! Read my pants and discovered wives. I warble from compression - the weight of blonde hair figures I won't come up for air - stay down there and become sick: the train arrives sans mustache. It's the last call for acute inflammation. Ten bucks says there won't be his seat next to angry pour pours. Slipped a token between the thumbs, out into the opposable light - God, America, tight garmenture. Crowds and crowds of walking dull: My feet trip up the hundreds who know me by name.