The Edgartown Prayer

Dear Field,

Please help the law rinse this village of deceit and over the years fill its exiters with veritas. Chaps who’ll heel and jawns who’ll halt at the prospect of middling sex, while the daft grow tons in anticipation. Ain’t George’s entire purpose to smuggle joy safely over the brook from the looms in petty mill towns? Such innocent, paltry amounts of coke for Rose or Mary to haul. They miss the port, erstwhile in favor of transit more avian.

Nay, all I want are perks, and oh, man a Pisco, pulled down in the blaring heat. That churlish George will never pen ink toner over my clean slate. Nay, indeed, hon’. Nay, indeed.