Seven

[offthepigs]

Time passes and you realize it's not just about you laying in your run down apartment with a type-writer; somewhere out there, is a story. But...Jesus! How much time has passed, I ask myself, because the weather was still warm, the last time I had ventured outside. Now, there's angel shit all over my windows

Comments

1/??

[modern_truths]

...

2/??

[modern_truths]

3/??

[modern_truths]

!

4/4

[modern_truths]

M-Mr. Duke! How did you...what--

You found another box?!

[offthepigs]

I only know of one box, shit hole.

Cut the Mr.Respect act, you have none for me.

[modern_truths]

Oh...thank goodness.

I would if you weren't so difficult.

[offthepigs]

Don't you point a finger, limp dick.

[modern_truths]

I wasn't. That seems to be your hobby, Mr. Duke.

[offthepigs]

My hobby is finding a story, but it's a lame fuck around trying to do that in this city.

[modern_truths]

You could write some sort of story on the recent murders.

[offthepigs]

All two-thousand of them.

How many of you stupid cursed fucks died yesterday, again?

[modern_truths]

...Cursed?

[offthepigs]

Or the day before...whenever it was.
Throw me a bone here, I'm a sick man.