A hatchetman reads words on a billboard without reaction. The wind rolls through an empty commercial lot and washes away his distraction. The sky is rusted, and thick with late spring precipitation. Ignoring the taste of an incoming storm, he shuffles through his messenger bag, and delivers a tomahawk edict with no fanfare.
But with no small amount of grim satisfaction.
This is the way he whittles his life into efficient simplicity.
10:11 p.m. - 2016-02-17
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