As I wander around aimlessly, I remember working on another crumby job. When I lived in New York I used to work for this really ugly Indian guy, he was a bit of an arsehole and fed me on scraps/fried butter (kept me going though). It made me think of the Indian ways of the Hindus and Buddhists, the strange people. He complained often about the pair of nuts he had under his armpit - what a sight as I spied on a couple having a shag in the house across from "my" apartment, sitting at the typewriter looking across at them. It's almost as if I'm making out with the typewriter as a "tribute to them". I suppose it could be argued that I’m trying to.