Everyone wears cowboy boots now. It’s not just about the cowboy boots though. It’s the pocketknives, the feathers in hair. It’s this new, peculiar brand of mystical rock and roll. Most disturbing however, is the bloodlust.
It’s nearly impossible anymore to walk down the street without coming across the small, lifeless bodies of trampled vermin. Guts and fur get tracked into coffee shops, record stores and supermarkets all over town. You can tell who goes where. I can just imagine the new after parties, people drinking to the point of anger, and then rushing into the streets to fuck up nature’s last-ditch effort to eek a way into the hard pushing future. Dancing in clubs, on floors slippery with the perfect embodiment of everything we take for granted, and the fragility that we fucking hate. Laughing hard, sliding across bloody floors, covered in the guts of everything weaker than us.
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