one of those afternoons
proclaiming at the top of his
lungs his latest discovery: a
zoological brothel. It was
called The Golden Child and
it was a huge open air salon
through which no less than
two hundred bitterns who told
the time with a deafening
cackling strolled at will. In
wire pens that surrounded the
dance floor and among large
Amazonian camellias there
were herons of different
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