(Vicky Alegooly. Puce, sprawled and nude. Begins rasping from a gutter on Townsend Street.)
Terrific gear. Smash it into my veins so I do. Allow it hurtle up the furlongs like. Into me thin, grey loins like. Hoort them like. Like….like eh… what’s ih? Hot mortar shells flying into a sleepin’ kid’s cheek…yeah that’s it. Like multiple vile narratives exploding from dry cookie dough, la blé erupting all o’er de gaff. Come here and I’ll tell you.
Is it safe to approach?
I saw the child’s head break open. It was snowing here last night and a man threw a snowball off the bridge at Rialto this morning, nice big fuckin icy yolk…..glistenin’ like the horny arse of a hot sheep in the rain, laughing goodo he was at the thought of his very own wintry creation hittin a car winshield, cold shreddin’..blendin’ through the environs of the car. Seatbelts and necks torn away like soft fuseli. I was sittin’ there thinkin’, what’s he at with that giant ball of ice? What’s he after? Then I heard the thunder, then I saw the blood…splattered over the bridge like a monochrome Pollock…monodeath bollock..
(Desmond Nosebleeder, the colour of stolen bananas reports from the scene..)
This man has become known to local police in the study/desk areas of Cabinteely, Dunmore East, Youghal, Rotterdam, and certain shrubbery in Finglas. ‘The Man Who Throws Fatal Snowballs’, as he has become widely christened, carries a notoriously foul smelling shoe with him, which it is believed he purloined from George Bernard Shaw’s grand-nephew on Talbot St. Local sightings have been reported in Dean’s Grange and Palmerstown, where the snow has now reportedly melted and the man is said to be crying hysterically, having locked himself in a neighbours toolshed refusing contact, water and food, save for soup l’oignon and black spuds from a bag. He has demanded his ransom, of which nobody has paid the slightest attention, for red cherries, despite it being tremendously off-season.