Shoots of hope

Stones tumbling and rats scurrying away sent haunting echoes through the crumbling corridors of concrete among which he resided. The paucity of life, the abundance of ruin, and the collapsing, dirty clouds above made all his surroundings seem empty yet oppressive. The memory of beloved companions now lost, and the ever-blunted shoots of hope that sprang anew in vain, rent him open each day to fresh depths of misery. And amidst all this, his only desire was to look at images of pairs of big tits clamped around wangers, imagine the wangers to be his, and jerk out meagre servings of gooey semen onto his dwindling supply of tissues.