angleARC.
Copyright © 1995 [IceStation#9]. All rights reserved.
Revised: .

            The inner city sleeps in the day after, in preparation of the eves of new, the time when all acquaintances are to be forgot, as we tick down to 95 years since the abandonment of the industrial decade. 2,000 reads the odometer as the gas runs red bellow the “letter E,” says Marry as she packs her bags to leave. To me the day is gray. But tonight we must party. Get to know your guests before you become one yourself. There must be some need for the mess age to be written in the sky.

            Why does the static never stand still, denying the masks removal? The first guest arrives.

            “No game of cards I scream.” Wrong I later found out. In life, I will go now to try my hand in the gamble of aces and city spades.

            Trial and tribulation of a Blackman, “dam I’m just in look foa drink a hell ick perverts every where down there for the city celebration for the suburban fucks,” Dan.

            Dan the first guest, Christ said, “it’s all white teens from check to waga down there.”

            “I have no feelings,” I said. She looks around and says, “Good luck my friend. I think you’re wacky on the junk.” Black lace stockings she wares. Pleated skirt, like the good girl next door. Time comes into us all. It’s time to go to sleep; all bets are off.

            Today the calendar reads day one, new refresh and improved so they led you to believe. Praise the Lord…there is hope for us all.

Day one comes to an end like all others must. The passing of a stale beer to the mouth quenches your taste.  This is just the first try at a new perspective, “You must give your self the chance.” But, maybe there right when they taunt you with their jest. Since the ribbon prints, no need for digital storage, besides how could you resist the great value of $4.98 at half price? What sense does it make anyway to dolt in the virtual?

The exasperations dissipate them selves she explains on the phone. Time remains our master. Has all been done before without being fully recorded?

“Yes, I do expect your misunderstanding of the thread in this story,” perhaps the mystery of the tailor is the hole plot, “0110011101001111011111000101000001.”  Secret code my friend. Secrets lie within the walls of privacy.

This morning when the gray sky breaks, the first workweek of the year begins with our hero left behind in the gaseous fumes of their wake. Luckily medical supplies have made there way through earlier this morning. Of, of what? He withdraws from. This is the way of Of.

            Some one recently asked Of a question. Of which I may not respond, for it is of no consequents. “Why such for something unattainable?” When the other characters need some sort of clue to create their own story they finally stand up and say, “our heroes are dead, our cities are dead, but don’t be stupid, your not.”

Too which Of responds through a black stair towards the steps…what are tomorrows goals,” he asks himself before turning out the lights.

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