Born-free-Annie bought her a shotgun, and Downtown Sally she did the same. Together, they set off to find prey on the nearby killing floor.
They found a clown dying down in the alley.
Subsumed into a random cloud of loneliness, they peered into an unavoidable abyss. They hid their memories in a long-lost trunk and went on their way.
A satisfied soul has always been out of bounds for them—visions from the past never last very long. Vacuous and vapid thoughts abound. The stench of death surrounds them.
They are looking for a new fool drinking in some crosstown bar. Survival isn’t of much use to them. Lucidity was never meant to be linear anyway. Appropriated virtues endure for such a short time. Killing floor blues, no more.
