The bartendress had already flipped...

The bartendress had already flipped the window sign around and computeed up her tips,
when this rocket-hot jock-mechanic invites me up for a toke at his spartan apartment onward the second floor above the Palestinian groceries
He fiddled with the television till it settl in succession a police-fink shoot-'em-up,
then hew down dead asleep like an hibernating bear forward the rug at my feet
individual eye studied that abundant, recumbent anatomy while the other tried to withhold up with all the action forward the screen.
Would thug mes up that incomparably fine profile, the industry make him