godlessmess

rampage 2

there they are, marching down the street ---> uniforms polished and pretty. crisp, clean, and precise. they started marching a few years ago and haven't stopped yet. unblinking eyes, but a shuffling march, one that cause them to bump into one another as they bob up and down past the vacant lots and the storefronts. the sedans and light trucks and rusting impalas divide them up into little chunky units, keeping the drifting down to a tolerable level. a few get hit once in a while . . . keeps the others more cautious and less likely to take risks.

today the sun is shinind down on them --> everyone's happy. and cold. a scruffy old hippie standing outside a starbucks comments to his leveled-off lady friend how brisk the weather is for this time of year, slowly embarking on a dripping soliliquy of local weather patterns over the last fory years. the poor girl, uninterested, looks him deep in the eyes, nodding for lack of something better to do. she stands and festers, oozing boredom from within a cocoon of seeming zenlike serenity. she might be said to have eyes of the "gaping" variety. don't blame her for that. it's not really her fault; the eyes of those who cannot see always gape open the widest. the hippie is bored with his soliliquy. he hates the weather, hates his town, hates his state, and his country. sometimes he wakes up in the morning tormented by the guilt of living, the visages of noodle-limbed wretches proclaiming their hunger with rotting teeth and ambivalent libido. bless the dead.