I never expected to be printed on quality paper. And I never anticipated actually reading about the Regal Pro. All I've had access to are tidbits of information, and the attempt made by even the most slovenly acolyte are surely worth even the smallest hand pulling back the sheet. Behold! The date of manufacture. Unleashed! The droplets of condensation. Just passing by! The dilapidated houses of East 3rd Street, a brilliant diorama of diseased lungs.
It's often raining when the poor advance masked. The Regal Pro stands in as an analog deck and the mind plays tricks, the ones heard through the damp din of the BBC. There's a warm hamlet out there somewhere, two men expressing the confusion of war and the intricacy of the daffodil, and taking breaks right overtop the Regal Pro. All herald Sloan's profit margins. Burn coal to light a vacuum tube, to ponder the daffodil and to piss with the Pros.
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