Whenever, really, that circular finger-trail neatly harpoons itself across that of the (bleeding) body of a beating-still, framed and famed beer bottle’s favourite face for sudden-most survival, which will ceaselessly insist upon coaxing and navigating its majestically calming and soothing mannerisms of unnatural creation … hazardously against that of the Neanderthal emotions of her ghastly mis-behaving’s.

Whilst, all-awhile, turning a credible cold-shoulder to that of this famously framed beatnik body’s spectrum of concrete insignificance. Only once in a while … will she follow a smile?