There are a few sheep, I suppose. But sheep aren't my scene. And even Bill, who's tried everything, now, I think, would draw the line at sheep. Anyway...he'll be back tomorrow.I tried writing a bit of poetry. Of course, I'm not a proper poet like Bill or Sam. They're going to be fucking famous when they're discovered.Anyway, here it is:'Twas on a groovy vase's side, Where psychedelic art had dyedThe fucking flowers that blow;Demurest of the tabby kind, The huffish Dylan reclined, Gazed on the. His eyes were gazing at her boot and the soft, white, sensitive skin of her inside leg which started at the end of the patent leather. There was not much room between the top of it and the fabric of her black knickers which barely covered her bulging crutch. Somehow he already knew, he just knew that, in spite of the punishment he had already received, he just would not be able to escape temptation when he eventually reached that forbidden zone at the summit. The session had begun some 15. More

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