The apartment was in a distressing state of squalor.
Beyond the kitchen door I could see piles of empty bottles, under the bed unmade the floor was littered with cigarette butts.
She spoke continuously in a low voice, mixed, and the stench of garbage off his breath.
covered with oilcloth on the table between us, a half portion of sardines floating in the oil; nearby, an empty bottle of whiskey. Meanwhile
out a stinging rain fell on a barren park where the grass had been trampled by the coming and going without a goal until the unemployed who had been mud.
I got up and went to look out through the rain.
Just below me was a man of releasing his rags to be stripped to the waist as if it was a beautiful day.
Her red lips framed by a curly beard remained open, only to close his mouth when he met the neck of the bottle, then came back to lay beside him on the bench.
The rain ran down upon him, and slipped on the ribs, insistent as a blackmailer.
Derek Raymond - April is the cruelest month
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