Keyhole Confessionals

I just can't help myself.  I'm am insatiably curious minx.  Just the other day I was in Garden Moor Apartments, peeping through a keyhole, and I saw a man eat an entire goose.  It looked greasy and delicious.  He worked on it for 45 minutes until there was nothing but bone and an incredibly greasy beard.  He really enjoyed it.  The joy on his face fed my nearly empty happy hole.  I feed on others dandy happiness. 

That night I went to the Rutherford Arms Tavern.  If'n you sneak upstairs when Bruno the bartender ain't looking, and creep down the hall, the third door on the right's keyhole contains an amazing sight.  Bruno's senile Uncle Larry is locked in there.  He spends his time making the most glorious paintings, with his own homemade paint.......  Brown paint.  His canvass?  Anything and everything.  He is a genius.

I don't always peep in keyholes, I'm not some freak.  Sometimes I peep out.  I have watched the same homeless man defecate in front of my door step every night for the last 37 months.  Whether he knows it or not, we have a relationship.  A really nice relationship.  Hosing his waste into the gutter has become a welcome and regular daily ritual for me.

Night before last I was down Trumble Ave, when I saw a sliver of light beaming from a tiny keyhole.  I couldn't help myself, I slammed my bare knees onto the pavement and stared salivating into the tiny glistening pit.  I was not disappointed, there was a man in there, working his sausage like a pro.  His hands gripping a seemingly insurmountable girth of meat.  I couldn't tear my eyes away.  I reached my hand slowly to my pants.  I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out my wallet.  I just have to have that man's meat in my mouth.  I fucking love a good length of Sausage and Maroni's Butcher makes the best.  Watch out though, that Maroni guy is kinda creepy.  

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