pass numbly to the kitchen , the attempted world of advertising , failing weakly in the virginal light , sadly , pathetically , pitifully not quite modern in its vinyl and enamel finish , apologetic , the ice-coffin refrigerator deserted , in its last lap towards a piece of waste ground and an unsuspecting child , the fly stuck in incredulous frenzy , held in the maniacal jaw of a venus alien plant , carnivorous in your green peace slumber-fly , child , bottle of milk trap .