Working the preemptive and the direct rout. Get louder. Get in the middle of the scum. Everyone ignore. Everyone look down. Pumped full of something warm and destructive.
Eyes wild with the opportunity. Let loose on the country. On the people. He is one of them, a product of it all. Full of beans. Full of that evil stuff. Loving this moment in a hell, the few and fleeting moments he will love. Engaging the moment. Suckingnit in through the eyeballs in the light and the green jacket. A rich, fowl stench. In the arms. Though the eyes by way of a big mouth.
Tearing up the core. Laying waste to the passers by. Full of that shit stuff no lore. Hating every drop on his face. Hating every footstep in another direction. Bent double in a corner. No beat in this. No life to love. The majority of it is this. In a puddle. Waiting to be consumed until the next and the next and the next and the last.
The lights flicker regular as we pull off into the night. Lights flickering on another's horizon moving with consistency. It is unchanged. And yet he is in a corner.