A head in the window across the street. A vacant room. Telephone pole and unpainted back of stop sogn top front corner on the lower left hand corner of the wall. Eat your candy. I am your light bulb feel my heat and eat my childrem th e plants, W hen you are here, we ask that you do nto leave being here, Legislator so fquestions that the symphony will not return their call. The dice in a hard time at the square up base, His stomach turned inside and up as "wing" reach for the dice cup and strew the bird guts on their shirts. "You are all part of something really important here now let's not forget thet," Charlie say with distrustful look in his eye. "Darm, are you in there? Come on out now, I hear you. Ain't no sense in- get your ass on out here now!" "Leave him alone man." T'shan say. "Okay, I'm going to explain the MAIN PRINCIPLE OF OPERATION here and you better listen up. This is a motion picture entitled: 'FEATURING THE COWBOYS'. THhe idea here is to take some cowboys from the old days, get them a good close bond going between them, and just do what we like to call mix it up a little bit, you know...These here cowboys is stuck in Pittsburgh, 1999. I think you can let your imagination figure the rest out," (Smiles and takes a deep breath. Turns to side camera.) "But you ain't gotta do that. All you need do is sit your ass down at a cinema plex to see this one. Here's a little teaser." (Footage of cowboys in action on busy street. In McDonalds. Drinking beer in a seedy bar. Following a bus on their horses through an intersection.) (Charlie' voice) "Cheff! A lean, gritty rustler with a flair for the fairer gender. He lays down the ladies in the wink of an eye. Job! A brawny, physical beast who wants his whiskey strong. You'd better not mess with this thug. Sally! She's the brains in this dirt and leather outfit, and she don't take no for an answer! Kyle! The bold and fiery character with dirty hands and nerves of steel! What he says, goes around here. John! The bald meztizo who will drink you under the table." (switch to black screen with the words "BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR:")

The Cowboys

"We was going to introduce them there cowboys and cowgirl, but it just wasn't near as funny when we went through the motions and put it on tape. That's how life is. Some things, they just don't work. What if I was to tell you that there was nudie pictures in this here motion picture that would make your soldier stand at attention? Well, there ain't. All you little ladies out there can breathe a sigh of relief..." (Camera switches to side angle,medium shot, over narrator's left shoulder.) "I'll be straight with you. You only have a few weeks to live. (His grin melts into pleading, yet sympathetic despair.) Why don't you go see this movie? Ain't gonna do no more harm than there already has been done. Give it a try." (Resume head-on medium shot. The narrator slaps his hand down on the tailgate of the truck, pulls the jimpson weed out of his mouth, and points it in the direction of the camera in a gentle but commanding way.) "My name's Jake, and this here movie is 'FEATURING THE COWBOYS.' (Cut to footage of cowgirl in a barfight with three young men in Nike gear. Jake's voice dances ethereally in and out of the action.) "You ain't never beliieve in this one. I couldn't beg-" "STOP!"

As they sat on the porch together huffing paint on a rainy day, Trent and Kyle had decided that it was time for them to do something with their lives. Just what they were going to do was not immediately clear; it was just that it was something and that constituted a beginning. They had tried out a number of possibilities already, weighing out the pros and cons of each and discussing their fears and hopes, with Trent scratching down some of the better ideas on the wooden floor of the porch with a rusty nail. There were the words "on th road" carved into the damp floor with a stick figure next to them sticking its thumb up in the air below the porchswing. About five feet away, next to Trent's muddy Airwalks, there was "liqur store$" scratched into the floor and filled in with gold paint. Kyle was slouching on the floor propped up on one elbow with a plastic soda bottle full of gold spraypaint in his hand. His mouth hung open and a tiny stream of yellowish spittle dangled from metallic lips. His eyes moved slowly back and forth from the Mountain Dew bottle and the "liqur store$," occasionally shutting for a few moments, then reopening revealing pupils fully dilated. Trent sat up against the wall and moved the nail in front of his face, first out and then over and then to the side and then down by his feet and then onto his shirt and traced a little design on the collar and then back out again and then he stopped. He looked down at the Coca Cola bottle at his feet. Stretching his legs out, then bringing them back close, he gripped the bottle between two gray socked feet and slowly and carefully lifted the bottle up to his hands. "Look," he said halfway up, "Hindu." "Hindu." Kyle said. "Hindu like the Indians." "I know. I know on the road." "How do you know it? You haven't been ever." "No I have." He stared cold and mean; fixed. "When?" "You remember stupid fucker... a years back?, a long time ago?" "Oh yeah, with the girls, okay. Why you like that one?" Kyle looked down solemnly at "on th road" again and snorted, shaking his head. "Fine, I don't care... Fucker!" He sloshed paint from the Mountain Dew Bottle at Kyle. "Fucker!" He threw the nail and it smacked into the door. It hit the ground and bounced with a series of sharp rings. "Fuck-" he started giggling inside, "Fuc-" it got louder and closer to the surface, "Fucker! Fucker fucker fucker you motherfucker I will have to do something drastic if you do not be that oh-so-fucker you are and will always will be!" "Okay." They both laughed out loud for a few minutes, until they turned red and Kyle started choking. Trent's laugh was almost unbearable to anybody. It was like a Howdy Doody puppet on LSD; like some sick ass giggle a character in a cartoon about mental hospitals would make, flat and stupid but with a punch from the high end of the sound spectrum every once in a while that made dogs turn in their sleep. Kyle on the other hand had a laugh that you liked. It was high pitched, but he was a little guy and you expected it out of him. He'd get going and you would swear ther was somebody up the street perpetually grinding their gears with the key because they were too stupid to stop. Anyway, they quit laughing like I said because Kyle stated choking and they decided it would be a good idea to go inside since the neighbors might say something to Trent's dad one of these days and they both had a lot of cash on hand to buy real drugs if they would just get up off their asses and try. It was a rainy day though, so they just decided to go inside for a while and watch TV. "You want to watch Dukes of Hazzard or this movie with the mountain man in it?" "No. You got anything to eat?" "Yeah in the fridge we got some hot dogs and some leftover shit from last night. When I asked I meant which do you want to watch; not if you wanted to watch." "I know. I told you," he made little quotation marks with his hands, "'no'." Kyle opened the refrigerator and rummaged through it. "You mind if I drink this beer?" "How many are left?" "One." "Uhh-" he looked away from the TV in disgust; he always had this face he made that struck aversion into you like hearing the one about 'the two fags that got gerbils stuck in their ass'. Or even better yet: 'you'll never guess What the pig said next'. 'Drop your drawers' was probably the answer, or at least that look made you feel like it. Nose all wrinkled up, mouth hanging open just enough to accent the curled upper lip and yellow teeth. He looked so damn ugly when he did that. "Guess not... well, don't mind if I do then," and he cracked open the beer. "Kyyyyyle..." he gave a little toned down version of the look again, "I said-" "Want some chips?" "Really-" "Good... good chips," he smiled, "help get rid of that paint taste." Trent smiled and looked back at the TV. "Naw, I'm fine." You see, it was kind of weird watching them because it was like sitting in with an old married couple or something. They were always together and they knew everything about each other. They had been in jail together a lot. They had shared the same girls more than a few times. They

I heard her spit out a mouthfull of liquid. “You fucking idiot !,” she screamed from the hallway. “You don’t use fucking powdered sugar in Kool-Aid. God! So stupid.” “Sorry. You know that shit stains. A big orange spot on the gray carpet-” “Shut up and bring me a towel.” “Sorry; I was already on the way. Damn, that was a lot of Kool-Aid!” “Not only did you use Powdered Sugar, you had the balls to make the fucking orange kind. You know that I hate it. When it comes down to it...the last few months...you know-” And then it was broadcast in Technicolor Red Blue and Yellow all across my brain marked ‘BULLETIN’ for all of me to see like ‘URGENT-OPEN IMMEDIATELY,’ and all such connotations and what it said was “SEX AS A DEVICE; NOT A FUNCTION. NO ACCESS

So anyway, Charlie had been sitting in his living room for about four or five hours sipping on a tall glass of ether not doing anything at all in particular; just lying on the couch, looking out the window, marveling at the simple wonders here and there, turning to the television occasionally and vacantly registering what eas taking place on it. With a television as large as his, it was hard not to notice from time to time. Fifty five inch televisions were not for the casual television viewer; in fact they were for die hard television enthusiasts, as a large chunk of the last three years welfare would attest. But money didn't really matter all that much when it came down to it, now did it? Charlie had a good son, a decent looking if not slightly overweight girlfriend and a cat he called "Bitch." Not to mention the kids who stayed in for free for weeks at a time from all the surrounding towns that his son helped to provide a steady flow of. Life was good, yes maybe difficult at times, but good. "Charlie!," crept in a husky female voice from outside the front of the three room trailer with wood grain panelling on the walls. A loud knock. "Charlie!," she croaked again, "get up and get this door I know yer in there; can't fool me, got off the phone with you less an hour ago." "Yeah I'm coming," he blurted out half drunkenly while trying to put down the glass of ether without spilling it, "You just wait." He failed. "Just a minute, well it oughtta be unlocked anyway; did you try stupid?" "Yes I tried and you call me stupid once more I'll be on you harder'n that nigger on T.V.; you hear?" "Yes, Yes;" and he opened the door. There stood Linda in all her humble charm. With the bag of Fun Size Snickers dangling in her left hand, wiry red hair carressing her face in spastic wind-touch, unlit cigarette dangling matter-of-factly out of her lip. "You got a light?," she asked in her stiff; rustic way. The words, along with the Snickers in her hand, played sweet tunes of trancendental grace and beauty on Charlie. "Sure do. You ate anything?, cause I'm gettin kind of hungry myself." She lit her cigarette. "Smells like gas or that shit they give you at the doctor in here." Linda surveyed the room with eyes and nose. "No I ain't had nothing's why I got these Snickers. You want one?" "Naw, I mean food. What do you think about spaghetti? Huh?" "Well I hadn't really give it much thought; don't sound bad, I guess." "Good, that's what we're going a have. Let's wait till the kids get here started fixing it." "You're sounding and your breath is kind of funny smelling. What you been drinking?" "Couple beers then some ether cause I was out and didn't have a ride and wasn't about just sit here and let a good day to waste. I vacuumed up all the chunks of shit in the carpet earlier. Then I took the empties and the grill ashes in that steel drum out by the road. After that's when I started in on the beers. Where are thay? I'm getting kind of hungry; wanting to get at that spaghetti soon-as-possible,." His voice trailed of at the end of the sentence and his gaze focused completely on Linda. She was in the kitchen; which in all honesty was only an extension of the living room save for the psuedo half-wall that the sink created by sitting off center of the room. The television took up a large third of the available space in the main room so that any area of the front of the trailer you were in you stood a good chance of observing the television reflected off or on to something. Linda was running a wet rag over the kitchen table. "Well hello little Bitch," she scratched the matted hair on the back of the gray cat's neck, "are you hungry? Let's see what we can do for you. Goddammit. Goddammit. . . Charlie, you seen what they did to this cat food bag?" "No-" "Have you?" "I was just try-" "I said are you-" "NO dammit; I ain't seen what they did. . ." he took a long cool swig off of the ether, "I don't really see why you gotta-" "I'm just asking you if you'd seen it. . . I wouldn't put up with it at my house if I was you." "Oh; shut the fuck up." "You don't have to be rude." They both stared past each other in subservient mockish form, neither really wanting to say much of anything. That didn't really matter; becauses right outside the door was Trent and his two friends Jack and Kyle who slept here almost every other night and the girl whose name was Dixie. They were currently sifting through the neighbors trash for unused syringes. The guy, who was also Charlies landlord, was a diabetic, and on occasion he would throw out unused syringes on accident. They almost never used those trash can needles unless it was a complete emergency or their usual means of attaining them at the time just happened to be out of comission. The door flew open into the trailer, and knocking the cat into the side of the couch, and upon reaching its vertex was stopped abruptly by a hand around which crept a devilishly curious and stupid face. "Hey kid. Where you been. . . we been waiting cause we figured you'd want to eat too." "Oh, I ain't really hungry right now." He touched a bottle of dish soap with the tips of his fingers and locked in an expression of vacancy while staring directly at the floor for a considerable amount of time, "We're all going to be here later on... " "Yeah I figured you would. You sure you don't want anything?-" He swallowed the last of the ether in a dry fit and stood upright at a forty five degree angle with his back popping at each side. "WE're going to have," he drug the next word out to a grinding crawling moan, "Spa-gh-e-t-ti." "Mmm" "Sounds good don't it?" "Sure does." "Yep. Sure does. . ." he paused momentarily to zone out on the television, "Oh, Luke Duke here's ramping the General Lee; look at him go!" "Well, anyway, I'm gonna be on my way." "Sure you don't want to stick around?" "Yeah...yeah, I'm sure." "Oh now; come on, we're going to have spaghetti. . .Spa-gh-e-t-ti. You know you can't just up and leave without some spaghetti; now can you?" "Whatever;. . . ,when's it gonna be done?" "What? When? We'll get right on it; if you're hungry. You want a lot of meat in yours or not? I kind of would like a lot of meat in mine; what about you?" "Whatever." "Go on... go ask your friends how much meat you want in yours I mean theirs... just go ask them; if they're going to eat that is." "Yeah okay." Trent stepped outside and slammed the thin metal trailer door behind him. "Does anybody-" he laughed out loud. "Does anybo- goddamm!, does anybody want-" he stopped and took a couple deep breaths. "Does anybody want some Spa-gh-e-t-ti?! Cause if you do; my dad's fixing some and he needs to know-" Everyone was laughing out loud with a perplexed look on their face staring fixedly at Trent. "No... really, he wants to know cause he's half drunk in there wanting us to eat spaghetti with him." Jack's face was bright red. He was trying to say something but it was like he just couldn't get it to come out. "Yeah sure I'll take some," he said choking on a laugh. "ME too," gulped Kyle. "You care if there's meat on it?" Jack and Kyle turned to each other and rolled their eyes. "Who gives a fuck?," Kyle asked, "Free, ain't it?" Trent stuck out his teeth and exclaimed in a mocking voice, "Of course." Inside, Charlie was getting things in order. The spaghetti noodles were lying on the counter, water was boiling, and a jar of Ragu Chunky Garden Style sauce was on the kitchen table with the lid off. Charlie was teetering from left to right in the kitchen heat. Linda asked, "You want me to do that?" "Do I look stupid?" He did a dance and waved his left arm about wildly. He whistled. "Goddamm that hurts! Broke my goddamm- Fuck!" "What's wrong?" "I done burned my hand on this hot ass water. Motherfucker that hurts. Need to turn this heat down-" "Charlie sit your ass down; I'll tend to that. You're too drunk." "Oh shut up." Trent, Kyle, Jack and Jack's girlfriend were sitting outside of the trailer. JAck and Dixie were tapping a small mound of compost with thier feet, staring off into space. Trent and Kyle sat on the picnic table in the yard holding plastic 2-liter bottles. Trent's was Mountain Dew and Kyle's was Orange Whistle. The plastic parts of the bottles that weren't covered by the stickers were a dull gold color just like their lips. Their eyes swelled red and they said nothing. Jack turned around and said "we're going to get some smokes. Need anything?" Trent appeared to be confused yet detached as if there was something trancendental in the back of his mind waiting to be shoved upp front past the video game strategies and Chic photo memories. Now serving number three... "You- Ithought you. Stay. You guys stay around you will for spaghetti right? Don't want you to leave we will pay more attention I promise; We promise, don't we Kyle!" The Orange Whistle 2-liter made a popping sound when he wrenched his lips from it. "Yeah." They both started to laugh. Slow at first, then progressively picking up pace and volume until they were both clutching their stomachs, slinging warm gold spraypaint on the ground, on their shirts, on the miniature size black Weber grill that lie two feet from the saggy picnic table and onto the ornate pattern of rocks affectionately known as "Lolita" to the two of them that they had fashioned together five minutes ago when there was an awkward period of silence. Carrie was already sitting in the passenger seat waiting. "Well I guess we'll be back later." Trent turned dramatically towards Kyle, revealing heavily dilated pupils. "Pretty daybreak todaybreak." They both laughed and repeated the paint slinging routine; between gulps for air, Kyle managed to say flat as a police officer knocking on your door to give you the awful news "Yeah." "I think it's real special how that sun glints off the water tower just- just right at the... you see it?" "Yeah." "Pretty nice huh?" "Yeah." Trent took a few hits off of his Mountain Dew. "Spaghetti ought to be, ought to be, ought to be-" his voice raised up to where it sounded like he was singing an offkey swing tune, "that there spaghetti will be done-" "Will be done," Kyle chimed in. "When it's done." "And if it don't get done real soon" "I'm going to have to huff-" the song ended and they both looked down at their two liter bottles like they were old freinds from way back. "Starting to lose my buzz." "Well, we surely will not tolerate that, now will we?" "I've got the perfect idea. More huffing raw materials." "It takes-" "Two squirts of gold paint-" "From a Wal-Mart gold paint can!" "You know where the huffers is?" Kyle looked long and hard at the cigarette scar on the back of his hand, shifting it back and forth and making it gleam in the sunset. "Not really..." his voice got louder, "but I'm ready to-" he thrust the bottle high into the air, "go for the gold!" All this time Chuck and Lindy had been hugging by the gas burner. "Looks good don't it?" He said. "I guess. Could have done without Spam. I don't like Spam too much." "But-" "Well-" "You-" "What?" "Well, you-" "I what? I done made you pissed or what?" "Well-" "Well well well just spit it out you drunk fucker. I need a beer." She broke free from his hug-from-behind and shook her hands off like they were wet with something nasty, turning to the refrigerator. She reached in, slid the crisper door in the bottom open, and pulled out a Keystone Ice. The cold blue can made the wet snapping noise when she pulled the tab. She tipped it back forty five degrees and gulped hard, looking at Chuck out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at her stupidly with dead fish eyes. She pulled the can from her mouth, wiped on her sleeve and "what?! What you looking at all like I hanged your momma? I ain't done nothing." Still, his expression did not change. Little wisps of smoke that effluviated Spam curled around his face. "I didn't know there was beers down there," was all he said. "Oh, goddamm, you look like some damn kid shit his drawers. 'Momma come get me school shit my pants,' or something. You want a beer poor baby?" "Yeah." "I'll-Get-You-A-Beer." "Thank you." His face regained its composure. "Dammitt, I knew I shoulda been watching this spaghetti 'stead of you." He juggled pans from one burner to the other simultaneously scraping obsidian Spam chunks with a greasy spatula.

So he has this dream one night, right, after huffing paint long and hard about six hours into the morning. Calls me up and says he'll be over in just a minute. He will walk down the street to the bus stop. He will get on the bus, and "I will stand tall and proud as an american degenerate as I sweetly relieve fair yon busdriver of the favor I need to ride on the..." it went on for a long time and then he hung up leaving me to get some pants on and smoke. He wouldn't shut up about this dream during the whole thing. "I need the persuasion of the other. It's like the jagged steel can and the night stick. The motion is just, well, like when the washing machine completes the cycle and lays quiet for a few seconds. Whoa. you are going to freak when you hear my awesome dreaml; it's just like I'm saying, about the steel doormat, or billy club, there will be an end to this need." I know this is going to kick ass, I just know it. I hope he's in the mood to smoke bud. I hope he's got some. I hope he smokes some with me cause I'm a sorry fucker. TV. You look real good,,, so good I will change the channel. Think about your fat ass with Tom 'n Jerry eating doughnuts and playing with matches, bitch. Need to let the cat out to shit. Left cat, cat eating that bird, left cat outside, cat that eyes cat. Chuck Norris is one bad motherfucker. Watch him kick this guy's ass. Bam, pow smack to yo head bitch leave the money on the nightstand. Damn. Motherfucker's getting up. "Next time stay away from the highway." What a fucking joke."Next time stay away from the highway with yo punk ass." "Hey!" What the fuck was that. "Hey, getchor ass to the door and let me in. The sun is melting and I'm losing the shrimp boat fast." "Shut the fuck up and wait a minute." "I was beginning to wonder... Weeeell; I was beginning to wonder, 'what should I do? Maybe if I throw a rock, not to break the window, just a spiderweb crack and then I would get his attention.'" "What, my house?" "Shit this is only an apartment, and furthermore it's rented, so I don't think you should just jump to conclusions like a madman; a fucking communist for jew's sake." "Fuck you." "Yeah, well anyway, about this dream, do you by any chance have a cigarette? I could really use one. Anyway- thanks; got a light?" "Got a life?" "Thanks." "Hey, guess what?" "What?" "I'll let you talk in a minute, first you got to answer this question-" "Can I get a drink of water? I sure am parched after such along ride." "Got any bud?" "Yeah, this glass?" "Sure, whatever." "Is that your question?" "What? Oh, no actually, it wasn't. I was wanting to know. I was-" "I'm listening." "Well-" "Just trying to fiigure out what style ice tray's ice to use." "Oh...these, this mailman gets stuck in a ditch and he doesn't have his cell phone. He walks to the house he just dropped their mail off, and says 'can I use your phone, I'm stuck in a ditch and need to call the office.' He makes the call and thanks the people. Is he gonna deliver that mail, or will he just sit his ass on the couch and stay for a while while the guys come to get hi truck out?" "Well, that depends." "On what?" "If they are watching Price is Right or not." "Oh." "No, seriously. Let's just say this chick is fat and old. She is eating cheddar cheese, chewing it off the block like chocolate bars. Would he stay?" "I wouldn't." "Exactly. Which is what I mean. Let's say it is a disabled Veitnam vet watching Price is Right. Would you stay then?" "Fuck yeah!" "I know dude, wouldn't that kick so much ass? Even better if he had a story about being in the VA back in 69 and Bob Barker stopping in for a little morale booster." "They didn't have Price is Right back then." "Then what did they have? 'Laurel and Hardy Sing Folk Tunes,' or some shit like that?" "They had...I don't know, Joker's Wild! or something. You remember Joker's Wild!?" "Fuck yeah; with the big ball on the end of the stick, I always wanted to get on the show and just pull that thing!" "Yeah!" "Thanks for the water, man; now let's get to my story." "Okay." "Okay. You want to load this?" "Sure, what?" "The bong." "Okay, I got to get water." "Here just use mine right here. No need to get up. Chuck Norris kicks ass. I'm gonna- wait he's kicking this guy's ass real good. Yeah, to the head. You stop in the tracks with cold feet. What? A commercial! How could they stop there? That guy was still on the groun bleeding; but he was getting up-" "Yeah; you want to hit this first or am I going to have to do the honors?" "You do it. Fucking Tide. They show him kicking this guy's ass then wash clothes? I'm turning this shit off. You okay?" "Yeah- the changer's here." "Anyway ,without further ado, here's my dream. Cash it, I smoked some waiting on the bus. I start out at this pool party at this athletic guy's house. He's like a jogger kind of guy who wears this...you know, one of those jogging suits with the shimmery material that bunch up at the bottom of the legs, and his pool is a green lake. There is moss like nasty old toenails all crusted on the surface, but we still swim in it. There are a bunch of other people there, too, but the onlt one I know is Josephine. There is this picture of this ugly ass guy, he has moles on his face and stringy white hair not to mention a stringy white beard that hangs down about eight inches and sticks out like this. It's just a picture of his face. His eyes are kind of crossed. Only one of them is, though. I think the left one...I am tracing squares of various sizes and putting them on aseparate sheet of paper after I cut them out.

Assemblage of Ego Junkies: They asked me the one question I did not want to hear: “You ever stick tinfoil on your dental fillings?” LSD and Methamphetamine make for an interesting combination. Sequential math could never have put it better. Intravenal methods are all out to lunch at this time. My magic wand sits on the bookshelf. I have let it sit, unused for many months. Realization that the old tenet of control means inevitable loss is a logical truth. Logic and mysticism have always walked hand in hand. C=L . The wand has lost most if not all energy and is basically useless until charged. Remember playful, entergetic sex magic long gone. I finally feel as if I have no real likeable quality. Used to be that I could just look at the situation from a third party perspective and see two as one; the unification of the two separate parts being the one sentient being. That was all about selfish, death hate television. Control of another human being for the sake of myself. I’m sure the road goes both directions. Traffic moving perpendicular in 180 degree opposing directions.

On the 2nd Tuesday and here it comes again after the coercive death riot of fungi in micro controlled environment. Trailer hawk 4 flies proud in the skies and scans the court for obvious signs of refuse left by the egalitarian youths who parade violently from box to box. What is the next chloralaldehyde sandwich of consumption? Trailer hawk 4 is unaware of the negative connotations of Joy sitting pretty at the kitchen table, her left foot hovering coyly over the litter box. Whisky and bacon diet; she is a egg drop automaton of tommrow’s event? Actually Joy is the behind the scenes director of Trailer hawk 4’s movements. His motion is guided by her loose lipped actions. Joy: A Proud Young Woman Kyle: Outside agitator. Trailer hawk 4: Our sad hero. Trailer hawk 4 spotted the half eaten cheeseburger on the ground from his two storey vantage point. Like so many St. Louis pigeons falling, he snags the prey like the sewer grate on Trans Dome Square. Half eaten cheeseburger. Kyle stood outside the village of egg cartons and thought for one moment. One moment only. The risk of making a scene at this point would mean to blow the cover story, hence the primary objective involved. Blistered meat. Joy, meanwhile, was busy at home, exploring the “new age truths”. The questions asked one thousand times but never enough in once, the serenity to grant me the need for heat. She was the indo1043 waiting to happen. It has been said previously she, or any other nameless shell would have the natural persuasions. TELEPHONE IDENTITY said it loud and clear into the headset staring you straight in the eye. He was small, an ex navy officer who lived in Britain, vacationing in subversive language technique. “I kind of had that feeling about her. . . you can sort of tell by that sweet modern attitude and look. . . not to get you down; but I was sort of surprised at the fact you hadn’t already went that route.” She sat fixed on grainy AMS Slim talk fix foto swaps. Trailer hawk 4 was hungry. Primary mode of function was to scavenge. There was nothing. Not a single dumpster. No levees with tags of “KISS,” or “I Love Barb.” No one eyed veterans of foreign wars to deposit runoff from plastic bags. Kyle systematically arranged a series of knives and stainless steel hooks on his living room floor. There was something missing, still yet. He motioned at the wall and cowboys appeared, valiantly passing poison blankets to native americans. The circuit was complete. He stepped outside for a cigarette. Joy ate