Heaven

The lone traveler, who liked it rough, dreamed of burying his face in an exotic muff. He would quaff and would cough foreign words of experience in hind parts and hind places, in the throes of delirium. To drop out of the world and to bury the hatchet, to rest easy and bold, with nobody to touch it but last evening's chanteuse, trapped in hammerlock fashion, and the fairly abstruse heavy snores of great passion.