Whole world's gone to shit.
Every corner of every city in every country in every goddamn crack and corner of this god-forsaken planet is caked in filth:
the filth of the trash, the filth of the forgotten, the shit smears and the fuckin' wastewater warlords of the street.
The type of cat who commands you to share that cigarette "let me hit that shit"—the one from the pack you dared to think "I should just fucking quit" before buying, because the cash flow is light.
About as fuckin' light as the rivers and the creeks flowing right now in the pre-summer heat.
Ain't no more spring. Just heat. Just hot. Just concrete. Just a motherfucker who might get got.
That's the time of day now.
The type of heat that soaks into the scalp and massages the anger muscles so deeply, you have to wonder who will die in the dead of summer—which is still months away.
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