Tropic Of Librium

Imagine the scene, if you will, Ladies and Gentlemen.

In the left ear and in a small part of the right ear you can hear the solid and rhythmic playing of two cellos forming the beat of an unplayed melody. The remainder of the field of your hearing you can detect the fierce whispering of women.

In front of you, almost in slow-motion, is the vision of your wife being gang-raped by three men wearing hoods. Fourth and fifth men hold you down, no matter how hard you dare to fight them, forcing your eyes onto her humiliation.

They force your son and daughter to perform wholly unnatural and completely degrading sexual acts together. They horrifically engage your pet dog with your baby daughter. Once finished, they take each of them and saw their heads off, skewering them onto poles which they erect in the front garden.

They tie you up and gag you and throw you out of the bedroom window. With a loud cracking sound, you land on your spine. You cannot feel your legs. They stamp and kick you and throw you into the rear of the van. They drive for miles and stop eventually, to drag you from the van, stab you through the stomach more times than your brain is capable of counting and set fire to what's left of you. Leaving you for dead, they drive away.

What is on your mind is this; that on the day that was formerly the happiest one of your life you became bound to what was the most beautiful woman in the world. Between you you had three beautiful children. What for?

Forget it. Forget it. Forget it.  You're not trying to imagine it like I asked. You're too busy listening to me. My name is Louie. I drive limos for a living. I am not married and I don't smoke. Nor will I.