The sky is demoing high-altitude indigo.
Dark-blue eclipse tints, streaked with the cocaine-straight meteor trails of jets.
Out of view, a farmer burns black plastic and afterbirth.
Gotta love the smell of endocrine disrupters in the morning.
I picture an Aladdin’s cave of weirdness. Barbie dolls taped in stress positions.
Even the Tetris rubble spells “Lolita”.
Today’s paranoia level: elevated.
The action is overtaking the narrative.
People talk about the zombie apocalypse as if there’s still time to prepare.