In the meantime she got out of the “retchin’ wreck”
Her belly is still inside on a table, someone offered her some drinks
Then fast in a room to earn some money and down again to the bar fish
who calls her honey.
She looked into the sand-fog with her broken flippers nailed to the wall, the back on the sidewalk
with smeared lipstick just to see a strange shadow more and more sharp-edged, so to speak.
the shape was hobbling near the landfill scales: territory of the hermit crabs.
“It’ seems an octopus… or what?”, staggering she thought about the king, who disappeared months ago.
What was the king doing in that place at this hour? Was he the king?
Than a thrill shook her body and she retched on the street, when she raised her head again, the shape
was gone in a cloud of sand.
She went back in the tavern to alert someone.
Everyone thought she was too much drunk except for seven hermit crabs and a squid, who was her pimp.