The final supper of the ficwhores · 6:21am Jul 12th, 2016
The hot humid musk of Baltimore suffocates you like God's enormous unwashed ballsack the moment you step out the door. A sea of brick beckons the journey of a thousand steps between the gleaming glass zoo of migratory humans and the organic hive of stone and streets known as Charm City. You put your best foot forward, feeling it stick slightly against the pervasive brownish ichor of regurgitated alcohol and caramelized human waste. Once more unto the breech, you think sympathetically of your emaciated wallet. Once more, we shall feast together, guided by the electronic whim of our silicon leash, boldly striding forward with your compatriots in tow, ignoring the predatory growls of the steel beasts that sit and swelter in furious impotent rage. The group trails behind like the stretching swirling arc of a doomed star orbiting the cusp of matters doom. They will find their way regardless, driven by primal urges more base than feeding or fornication. The final hours are at hand. The sixty dollar meal is but a garnish next to the consummation that will slake our true hunger. We take our seats at the table in the same manner of fish returning to spawn and mate. We are an eclectic orgy of Venn diagrams. Minds fertile, with ideas ready to pollinate.
"Hey, I was wondering if you want to read this story I wrote."
HA!