Tours of the Black Clock

24

IT’S THE NEXT YEAR and I wake one morning to the thought of a woman I’ve never seen and cannot even remember five seconds later. The only thing that remembers her is in the middle of me, and it won’t stop remembering until it spills its memory across the bedsheets. From this point onward I am erect like America. At the end of the year my cock is one of the few things in America that doesn’t crash groundward without effort.