Morgan Evanar
May 11th, 2015, 08:13:41 PM
The stench of summer, of you, is in full effect. Your Wal-Mart sandals begin to glue themselves to the black pavement in the July heat. The dry winds of the Great Plains over Kansas, Nebraska and Oklahoma have conspired with the Gulf of Mexico to generate airborne misery. Your sweat drips down over your nose in a futile attempt to cool your soft, weak body. The GameSpot bag in your hand wants to return to the Earth as it's original billion year-old form under the cloudless, featureless sky of oppressive cobalt blue. It has a used copy of Assassin's Creed Unity. It is a terrible game, created only by unrelenting capitalism without regard for quality for investors who only want a larger margin. They are only concerned about the length of their financial penis. Money no longer means anything more than a number. They care nothing for
Columbus, Ohio.
This is not the biggest strip mall in America, but it's the second largest monument of pointless American consumerism behind the atrocity in Chesterfield Missouri. It is a half-mile mishmash of concrete futility. The Eastern Block Brutalists would have been disgusted, the Dadaist amused. Acres of blacktop boil the air. A trek across the inferno is punishment for your poor choice.
You stare at your 1996 Pontiac Sunfire convertible. It is a car made for idiots who were too stupid and cheap to buy a Corolla. It was designed by engineers and destroyed by penny-pinchers and middle managers. It was owned by your Grandmother, who never traveled further than Iowa. You hate Iowa. You hate your Grandmother, because death has allowed her to escape
Columbus, Ohio.
You are paralyzed by the desperation of the parking lot. You are paralyzed by the stifling humidity that causes riots in Rio, that causes cheap murder on the docks of Barranquilla, that increases racial tension in New Orleans.
Your cheap sandals continue their liquification because you are paralyzed by indecision. If you move now the straps will loose adhesion to the sole. Your pale, pink fleshly feet will burn if you move now. If you stay, you will pass out as the Mountain Dew sweats itself out of your greasy pores. The pittance of water has long been pushed into your bloodstream while your pancrease desperately squirts insulin to keep up with the blood borne corn syrup. You pant heavily. White dots your eyes.
Columbus, Ohio.
Columbus, Ohio.
This is not the biggest strip mall in America, but it's the second largest monument of pointless American consumerism behind the atrocity in Chesterfield Missouri. It is a half-mile mishmash of concrete futility. The Eastern Block Brutalists would have been disgusted, the Dadaist amused. Acres of blacktop boil the air. A trek across the inferno is punishment for your poor choice.
You stare at your 1996 Pontiac Sunfire convertible. It is a car made for idiots who were too stupid and cheap to buy a Corolla. It was designed by engineers and destroyed by penny-pinchers and middle managers. It was owned by your Grandmother, who never traveled further than Iowa. You hate Iowa. You hate your Grandmother, because death has allowed her to escape
Columbus, Ohio.
You are paralyzed by the desperation of the parking lot. You are paralyzed by the stifling humidity that causes riots in Rio, that causes cheap murder on the docks of Barranquilla, that increases racial tension in New Orleans.
Your cheap sandals continue their liquification because you are paralyzed by indecision. If you move now the straps will loose adhesion to the sole. Your pale, pink fleshly feet will burn if you move now. If you stay, you will pass out as the Mountain Dew sweats itself out of your greasy pores. The pittance of water has long been pushed into your bloodstream while your pancrease desperately squirts insulin to keep up with the blood borne corn syrup. You pant heavily. White dots your eyes.
Columbus, Ohio.