Reegan swallows as he feels the inside of his own lips and corrodes. He closes his eyes and responds with a banal, ‘ For me the function of every orgasm is generally to achieve some defined purpose,’ which was a circular feedback, crude and fertilized by self-loathing and secretive eye-liner.
Late 50’s was an era of delegated futures. What their liminal mouthwash directed us to was virtue only in the reductive sense of physicist urges corroded by biological devices beyond their control.
‘Some days I dream of concept sketch marks,’ his wife confided.