migration
Sunday afternoon. Spartanburg is a ghost town. I walk the streets enjoying the heat, admiring Flagstar Plaza, wearing my "think" face, looking like the vigilante bitch of the world. A smaller, long-haired and limping Clint Eastwood. Limping due to an unfortunate walking accident I had coming home last night. Ah, to be a totally uncoordinated fucktard. Spartanburg does have its points of beauty. I rediscovered corners of it here and there, places I had totally forgotten about. Downtown . . . memories, memories. Generally good ones, of walking the streets at night, talks with Danielle, graveyard haunting with Vinny, music on main, Barnet Park, etc. etc. etc. Now the beauty barely masks what a fucking cesspool of megalomanical bastardry it's turned in to. I'm sick and fucking tired of being run off from everywhere for simply fucking existing. I'm here whether you like it or not. And one day I will own your ass. In some way or another. But for now, I'm off to movie night.