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Hunker

I like master-keys.

Any easy solution to locks.

Let me in.

I have creaky needs.

My needs are in a 1950s atomic-bomb shelter.

After a dull searching moment, they know to go down there.

People are selfish shits and fair-weather fuckers.

Clap in all the corners of the room. Banish.

Happiness can’t be cracked like a puzzle, a nut.

In the bunker, it’s a bit airless but there’s plenty of tinned food.

My needs are lying on a bunk bed reading an old Agatha Christie.

The blanket is itchy. I’ve always hated mysteries.

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