Hello and I’m sorry.
A salutation and a farewell.
I don’t have much time.
This Times New Roman is going to fly from my fingertips like a
plague of moths.
The hollow black litter shells crunched into the ground like the
skin of a cicada
This is all that’s left, and you can do whatever you want
with it.
Keep it to yourself or let it serve as a warning.
The city is disgusting, a corpse of what it used to be.
The people are filthy.
Gluttonous.
Moved by the power exchange of séx from the hands of the proletariat to
the bourgeoisie.
The tops of the skylines buzz with the lacklustre enthusiasm.
The ground level is caked in dirt and rust and grime and the
people that dwell there wake and rub the filmy layer off their
lukewarm eyes.
There are some here I love, some who fear me and some who wish I
was dead.
I didn’t ask for this.
No one asks for this.
You’re born into it.
You grow up oblivious and sheltered and one day the evil
realities of this place hit you square between the eyes like a
perfectly aimed bullet.
If this were a movie, I would ride off in some blood red sunset
down a stretch of road into the wasteland that keeps us captive
here.
But this isn't a movie.
These are the Badlands.
