Glazed Peyote Crème Brûlée

The scavenged tin hovels and wet pits of desert dwelling skags seem deserted save for the encircling shadows of bulimic buzzards. And hanging from the sprigs of thistles are toothbrush plastic rosary beads pinched from a petrol station along with Quasimodo’s prickly pear pitchfork. Little Marci modelling truck stop sunnies, twirls in her white dress; Flower girl fanging it across the waste with Mumsy and militant surrealists.