what the f...?
what the f...?
Out of context: Reply #16
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- mikotondria30
...of endless glowing orange horizons with art bell on the radio, passing a million grubby huge robotic trucks with license plates from places in songs, your destination looms bold and white on green, with a number under 200 next to it. Nearly there you think as suddenly you're sailing over the top of a sleeping town, the same bright restaurant signs fighting to be the highest, the loudest, all shut, past the last exit for 20th street, back into the darkening sky, more trucks, more aliens, somebody plays freebird and it's still itchy hot.
- Leave the poetry at home fancy boy. Only tits and internet humor here please.brains
- it's prose, actually.mikotondria3