of names and things

Strolling down Grafton Street, Dublin.
And lo!
Half way down the street, I behold.
A large oblong shoe box of a building has been refurbished.
The refurbishment over many months seems to  have consisted solely in swathing the windows on every floor in purple pink chiffon.
Beyond the purple pink, you cannot see.
The effect is intended to be enticingly erotic.
A sign over the door proclaims: "Victoria's Secret."
The noble Heelers pauses in the rain.
"They should just call it Boom Titty Boom Boom," I mutter darkly, "because that's what they're selling."
And lo again!
I have found the name for my new theatre play.