Rat Trap Rap, Part 1 of 2

I crossed the yard two-thirds awake, intent upon that coffee break: young teacher hunk, one tall, cool stud (before the Night, before the Flood, before the Flight of all that’s good, before the Blight brought down the Wood, and damned spare tyres dammed up the Gush), I waded through the schoolgirl crush. Two slinky babes, real dinky girls, all legs and lips and kinky curls said “Come upstairs, hang out with us: we’ve got some **** we could discuss.” You think me stupid? Yes, indeed-o. They led me upstairs by the libido. With limbs so nimble, movements fleet, they steered me to the science suite. We pushed ajar the green lab door, and they weren’t smiling any more. They wanted me to case the joint. They’d brought me here to make a point, for Tippy Hedren and Lee Remick had drawn me in for pure polemic. That sterile world of steel and glass: that ingrained smell of Bunsen gas! You’d keep away from high school labs if you’d seen what was on those slabs.