Sometimes, only a bag of chips will do.
... she said throwing her violin aside and diving greedily into the bag festooned with grease and heat, which soon lit up her mouth and lips like an Amsterdam street at night. Her ecstasy seemed to press down on her and she fell to her knees, her skirt climbing tautly, discreetly up her thighs . In the background her companion grunted roughly, 'Do you like them chips m'dear?'
She only moaned, barely aware of the glittering eyes that were having their own feast on her kneeling form.
'Mmmmm, grease, greasy pole, coooool', the voice seemed to drift off into a haze.
Would there soon be more than just a roving eye journeying over the shadows and open plains that seemed to be worshipping at the chip bag?