Fumbly Barry Bins stumbles about the foyer, eyes peeled, radiating a gilded gaze for his lost, dearly beloved, hand-held knee scorchers. He hears their cries bouncing 'round the walls. It's a wandering tumult -- like a hall of mirrors of voices scattered and refracting. Hole in his jeans, cool knees Bins boulders down the expansive hall and dives in a pillager's mania for the satiating key. Warm knees.
Hole in his jeans, stiff knees Bins barrels down a wall, racking and prying his legs back in line. But all numb, riled in a twist-crack! Foiled
Faint feigned vigour vanishes; collapse!
Adrenal euphoria, all calm
Barry Bins' mind flushes under down down underneath the disparate shrieks.
Quiet.
Warm--at last;
faint.
Happy.
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