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[Blood-Pigggy]

Before a night out on the town (as it were, I would be puttin' on the Ritz), I consult a variety of individuals for their pertinent opinions.

Russ - It is that red, which you place on your lips, which make them full and succulent, that I prefer best. It as though there is a trace of blood on the fatness of your lips, a bit of vulnerability that I can bite, and reveal, and relish within.

Himmler - It is that gold, for which I see so much richness, and so much to exploit. If it shines, then it can be taken, and as your lips can be brushed away with, as can I take you away, and once taken, take once more. Gold is a breadth of possibility, not only to have, but to use.

Fubb - It is that black, to which I see nothing but an emptiness that I could fill with myself. That blackness, so deep and so all consuming, gold and red, they may fill up, but they do not last, black is empty, and it is forever. That eternity is what I seek, and only in the grim sheen can it be found.

By the time my heels clack their cackle on the sidewalk, nearly insidious in their prospects of manipulations for the night, I have made my decision. It suits me well.