yesterday's riotsvilles, today's cop city
ketamine-addled, shriveled up sacks of excuses for men. Filled with hair plugs and greasy cheeseburgers, run through with fear of darkness. Is it because they have no friends?
Everyone going in reverse. The beeping on the trucks and the smell of shit fills the air. Just what I want to smell first thing, not the wild roses, but the piled up shit, still warm, no doubt, steaming. Thank you for this life. Thank you for the opportunity to get up off the floor, rise up to standing.