Thursday, July 31, 2008


The wind on the bridge crashes into a semi.  Like a thunderbox.  Clyde walks the streets on the most torrential day of many years.  Gluten-free assholes and high priced wicker.  Why anybody would pay 50-plus dollars for wicker is beyond him.  Can the economy possibly support such faggotry?  Is this the kind of question that should be blowing through his mind on such a gusty day? 


Smokes are his solace.  So many stupid choices in life and it all comes down to a brand of cigs. 


“That’s America, baby,” the gas station attendant says.  “Choice.  We all choose whether we wanna’ die with lights or menthols.”


The wind is the only thing on Clyde’s mind as he takes another drag from a newly-opened pack.  The wind and its relation to the busty dumpling he met at the party the night before.



Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home