The boy said what the? in pretentious tones, the girl said what the? in and out of her mind. The glass was all what the? rose colored shards, and people slithered in the rain.
There was no call for tidiness. No one cares. No one Cleans. No one owns anything. Everything is just a bucket of twigs, actually, that’s not a very good metaphor, but you know what I mean. It’s like staple cross or something in a lung bucket.
Nancy Dreamface or girl with the eyebrows.
She walks over, well, she wades in the sun, but I can’t stop staring at her crowded mind.
Her thick, cool glasses glisten with dead whimsy, and her voice is like lead, soft, grey and heavy.
She stutters, sputters and chokes out all the evil.
Not like a weed. Like a duck.
The vomit dances off her polished lips.
I got credit for being a student so I payed her off.
The next day I woke up early and watched as they threw the whole forest in the trash.