Oh, Mr. Bennett was always a bit of a frightening concept.Like one of those stories your parents used to tell you about the bogeyman.
I can see his bed now: Stained and stinking of piss and day-old semen, festering in the corner of a tiny room - barely bigger than a broom cupboard. His collection of vintage gay bear contact mags peeking from under the single yellowing pillow. Propped up the corner is a mop that has clearly been used for something a consumer magazine would never describe it as 'fit for the purpose'.
His discarded clothing forms a crude nest in the corner, and upon close observation can be seen moving gently by itself, as if infested with something.
Oh - hang on - that's Dixon's room... Mr. Bennett is next door.
Sorry.
(I can see his bed now: Stained and stinking of piss and day-old semen, festering in the corner of a tiny room - barely bigger than a broom cupboard. His collection of vintage gay bear contact mags peeking from under the single yellowing pillow. Propped up the corner is a mop that has clearly been used for something a consumer magazine would never describe it as 'fit for the purpose'.
His discarded clothing forms a crude nest in the corner, and upon close observation can be seen moving gently by itself, as if infested with something.
Oh - hang on - that's Dixon's room... Mr. Bennett is next door.
Sorry.
Doctor When May your wife shat and chipper,
Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:06,
archived)