epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer
''Like that, man?"
she said in a long gasp, now actually thrusting her rear into his face,
touching, softly, till he could smell the deep woman-scent of her big behind.
"Sit down,"
Mama yelled across the room. "Don't you see he wanna listen to that man
blowin?"
This number was
swinging, chuchuchichichichiswinging! Drums were going, fever in 'em, swinging,
swinging, bass behind them, clawed Ned's inner realm of reason, tenor, trumpet,
baritone. With the tempo rising that way, he could know the pulse of man;
warmth of reefer rising with the insane tenor saxaphone.
"Nice!" Mama
said, and Lorraine stopped her probing round him.
A parroty trumpet clashed
to the middleground, and like a terrified old man, finding himself on the banks
of the River Styx, cried out at Death's new torment; his breath howled over the
river of brushed cymbals and collided in fear against the whole hairy chest of
the baritone, which took the little thing into its apelike arms, smothering its
forlorn protests, then took off, running wildly, a cruel, crushing,
invulnerable mad messenger.
"Man, that's
NICE!" Mama said.
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