Smoking tomorrow

[insidewalkinout]

There is no stopping. There is only the razor-sharp air piercing the tepid water. The land doth swell, the wind doth scream. Magma pours from the earth with an indivisible purpose, above half-baked bomb shelters with a year's supply of baked beans. Sit and warm yourself by the embers of stained magazines before the great metal jaws slam shut. My watch stopped years ago, but there it rests strangling bone. Drink up the firewater and wait.

Shut the FUCK up.

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