traffick boss was confused in hyperprison earlier he had cobbled things together into a makebelieve office with him at the head
now things were spread apart in little bundles a stub of cigar here, a bundled dustball there, a ripped sock over there, dictator of dictatortopia over there, a stool leg broken in anger over there he half crouched, half sat in the middle. he would scratch his head maybe if he were sure to
