Issue 69, Spring 1977
I never seem to hear much, except Tschaikovsky.
What’s the matter with me, especially on Saturday
afternoon? it seems that there’s a park nearby
and people in it. But luckily they don’t drop in
and one can pleasurably collect grievances while being
perfectly confidential and enjoying it a lot. Oh truss!
don’t you feel yourself maligned? So do I, darling truss!
but I’m not, really. See that evil glint in my eye?
it’s Evil, being friendly for its own sake, and mine.