CHAPTER XVII

The Kasinos here operated on silver chips. Stan thought that the place looked like ferris wheels within ferris wheels. Stan started razing E street, twenty blocks away from where he stood, with his processor plugged into one of those Joker Poker machines. His juices were ready for Aloysia. He was ready for that one last reverse spin before he cut her cord. Of course, Aloysia knew he was headed towards priesthood. She rapid guessed when they broke off a randy liplock, with Stan squirming like an eel. “It’s not like I have to be celibate or anything…” but she was already sniffing some crystals. Saving the world with a few chips in his bag should be easy. The fall of 27 automatons – one molten mass that would drip off Kraal. His juices were ready for Aloysia. The café racer that he ripped off Cyclops was quaking - the adjustable shocks massaged his balls. Cyclops’ shiny head lay in the middle of the street without a home. He’s fallen out of the orb anyway, so Stan needn’t ride like a sophomore. “Wank the Lord,” screamed Stan, “The father, the son and the holy fucking ghost.” A fuchsia phantasm whipped itself into a cloud and Stan smelt sickly cotton candy. Soaked in enflurane. – L