The strange drops falling from the sky

was met with the wonder of a passsing comet that visited rarely. It was still water, thick, like oil, falling hard on the face of the unrelenting tarmac. The fast cars shrieked, maddened by the drops, swerving unsurely, tyres screaming for mercy. Edit, splice, cut, whatever to escape the huge roads like gaping mouths devouring the tons of steel passing through. Cut to a darkened room floating with women bearing cool beer. And popcorns that came endlessly. The men sat hunched in visual masturbation, eyes locked, going in and out, in and out, penetrating to the depths of the saree clad skin, unwrapping the layers of cloth with lust-filled delight. The eyes became a long membrane of blood gushing passion, snaking into the layers of cloth. Cyclop eyes that spewed pent up emotions. The dark room filled with intertwining membranes, twisting, turning, dancing, brushing, around the milky skinned women. Visual snakes in rapture, engaged in passionate game of make believe. The women floated around, mesmerised.