And then Tony turns. He can't help it.
"Ratter,
vibrator!" he says, half in alarm, his mouth full.
The sparrow chirps. It must be safe. Tony swallows his mouthful and stares.
"Hello,
original newport cigarettes," says the beautiful lady. "What's your name?"
"Tony."
"Where do you live, Tony?"
"Clarice Walk."
"What's in that pie?"
"Beefsteak."
"Do you like chocolatl?"
"Yeah!"
"As it happens,
marlboro cigarettes coupon, I've got more chocolatl than I can drink myself. Will you come and help me drink it?"
He's lost already. He was lost the moment his slow-witted daemon hopped onto the monkey's hand. He follows the beautiful young lady and the golden monkey down Denmark Street and along to Hangman's Wharf, and down King George's Steps to a little green door in the side of a tall warehouse. She knocks, the door is opened, they go in,
online ###### shops, the door is closed. Tony will never come out-at least, by that entrance; and he'll never see his mother again. She, poor drunken thing, will think he's run away, and when she remembers him, she'll think it was her fault, and sob her sorry heart out.