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Pollo Erotico
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Removing the single green olive pierced by the wooden shaft of an oak tooth pick, the martini is dry. The light of the slowing mirror ball fades. The Sun rises. Re-dressing brings forth a mist of sweat, lust, tears and eroticism. Strutting southbound across the boulevard, a cigarette is lit, glasses adjusted upon the brow. Nose is bleeding. Ears are ringing. Collar smeared with lip stick, the door is open, the engine started. The journey to Pollo Erotico begins. Pollo Erotico. Digitally Based. Sourcing and distributing music of the past, alongside that of the future. Pour some scotch. Light that cigar.
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