Prone to joustling pranks, books of love
get bumped, dropped, scattered, wet, and
trampled on by passersby intent on their
own destiny. Pick them up, dust them,
dry them off, they wait to be opened and
read again. They don't have any covers to
judge by, no titles, no indexes, no instructions
for dancing. There is only an invitation to
join what might end up to be a hazardous
expedition. The pay is low. The nights can
be freezing ice, a vise gripping the ship till
it cracks. Lingerie is never included in
survival kits.
But, candles are.....