She seized a safety-pin caked with blood and rust, gouged a great hole in her leg which seemed to hang open like an obscene festering mouth waiting for unspeakable congress with the dropper which she now plunged out of sight into the gaping wound. But her hideous galvanised need (hunger of insects in dry places) has broken the dropper off deep in the flesh of her ravaged thigh (looking rather like a poster on soil erosion)… what does she care for the atom bomb, the bed bugs, the cancer rent, friendly finance waiting to repossess her delinquent flesh… sweet dreams, pantopan rose.