As the boy, tall and dark sat and watched the buildings dance past through tinted plexiglass, he pondered. Each store uniquely dressed in blue and black and purple and grey, yet identical to the well dressed boy who gave no time to print shops and dry cleaners. He thinks to himself, ‘what will I do to her when I get my hands on her?’ His strong, well kept hands flex as he draws the gentle curves of her perfect ribcage in his mind. Under pert mounds masculine hands anchor eager bones to a writhing sea of expensive black sheets. The impeccable dimples in her perfect flushed cheeks vanish as her head tilts back and lips part. The depths of her mouth seemed to swallow his soul as the softest of moans, tender and sweet, slips through the supple flesh of carnation pink. A ding is heard and the boy stands up. His stop has come and he ventures home, his pants unseasonably tight.