A great nother personless town

Greatness in a wedding dress. She tore through the ceremony with her heel streaks and her enchanting ballerina twirls. Fritz stayed himself in the corner, gazing and regazing, grazing and regrazing that body in his mind, his hand fondling his knee caps.

"Nobody can see me," he seemed to say to himself. "But I can see everybody."

One might pass this off as cruelty, as the cruel fate of loneliness and voyeurism, but his hand is happy. His hand knows the creases and folds of his own body. Why does he need another...the chorus seemed to say.

The chorus is filled with choir boys. The choir boys are filled with youth, and their bodies are filled with the prospective pleasures of the hand...he thought to himself.

"I'll take that over the kneecap anyday, I will!" he said. He followed the boys into the girth of the church basement, into the secluded heart of it, and what did he find?

They ate him vulturous and sultry, wet-lipped. They surrounded him, their legs dangling out of the messy circle, their heads dipped into the fray of it, bobbing like green apples in a basin of broth.

Who'll be the next fellow in the corner?

You?