bumper-to-bumper conundrum (with semi-Elizabethan editorial postscript)

an obese dwarf in tiger-striped stretch pants
beanbags her butt and thighs on concrete steps,
conversing with the half-seen sienna Asian
who, bearding behind the pebbled aluminum door,
(his lips shielded from the reader of dooms)
begs to question the unseemly lack of laughter:
methinks no seduction will here transpire or intend,
no hard dark prick in the mounds of woe is seen:
prithee how worse would be the otherwise?