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the filth.

typical bloody copper

she thought

staring up at the woodchip ceiling

- come –

as if !

you’re not pounding the beat now

you know

you cocky bastard

 

banging away

in the creaky bed

with the creaky floorboards

& pantomime B&B landlady

with her ear to the wall, no doubt,

at oh two hundred hours:

he’s the one on secondment

on automatic pilot

& paying the bills

 

as he whispers in her ear again

come quietly now

come quietly.