Torture’s Man.
He isn’t afraid of words’ double-meaning either.
Alone in a sea of people, polluted as the real part of the metaphore.
Just fed up. Word he’s fed up.
And thus Torture’s Man, goes out on the street.
A hag is being robbed by a youth, and she shouts out for help.
“Oh, a robbing, oh là là” were the words to come out of his mouth.
The robber takes it as a defiance, and places his knife in Torture’s Man’s neck, exactly opposing his jugular.
“Oh, a cutting thing. Oh là là”, he skewers, just before leaving the youth badly wounded from a forbidden strike.
He just keeps on walking.
Four officers stop him.
“Oh, fire guns. Oh, là là”.
The tallest points to his police badge.
“Oh, the Authority. Oh, là là”.
He cracks his head open with his club. Call it a silly day.
“Hum, I am bleeding out. Oh, là là”.
Finally in Hell:
“Ow, ow, ow, Satan’s gonna hurt me.”
“Know what? Forget me”.
He sees the face of God Himself:
“Man, you… I mean, you!?”
“Hey, hey, hey, God is not O. K. Oh, là, LÀ”
