Giuseppe's fondness for the canaries of dirt

That painting with its winged penises, searching for macaroni, butter, and lumps of gum. 

"They've come around, they've been around all night. They're here thinking of doing it over and over again, just like its some funny repetitive dance along on the round sofa. Gah, I can hear 'em thinking about it. I don't need to see it. There's no value to it. We can't use the pictures in our heads like this. The damn music's too loud."
Success is a line in here. It's not from somewhere else and it won't succeed without a market to happen to it. There's too much wax and too much wax as the song goes.  What we need is to keep making these markets happen. They need to be everywhere just like candlesticks and crosses in the night. Giuseppe knows us, we're his reckless canaries in this poorly lit hole. He knows us as the cats that know the mysterious language of all the other birds in their holes. I've told him before that they're easy. "They're like open books in a burning library, don't get confused and don't get left behind," I tell him. But Giuseppe's timid as a school bus and he's all over the place after six. He's left again and then he's right until he wobbles off entirely. 

His is an eccentric path and he holds to it right down to the ground. Giuseppe's usually broke or fumbling. He's either in argent or some getaway black but on most nights he's looking as carefree as a clerk. Tonight he's chatty in his tight wooden shoes. "What's that word," He turns around quick to cinch his tall stocking up. "It's the one that means, the land of the tall pines, but it's probably saying, that which lies at the end. What's that word again? Because I for one, I like that word a lot. It's grounded. It sounds so Canadian that it's like its from a time and place that's all by itself. There's too much galavantism and people rushing off their rails. We weren't meant to move around so much. No dance in the pants, No jive, no bulhsit neither. Just so you know, I'm going home after this and it's just going to be me and Mr Kosmonaut tonight. So don't try anything."
At the end of the hall we see the inappropriately named, Ms. Tabby Tabby Tabby on her way to June's. She slips under the bed in the red box room. Her ass wiggles under the dangling flat sheet. The night ends when she says, "isn't it all just right darling?"