Monday, November 7, 2011

Burn rubber

No one was supposed to get hurt. Real criminals never say that or even think it. I would not base my evaluation of any dire progression of chaotic events on Ridley Scott's approximation of human behavior under such conditions. And who the hell says tarmac anymore? There's no rubber on the tarmac; that's out at the airfield at what used to be the south edge of town, where the Koren War era fighter from north of the border skittered down three-zero and slammed into the ice cream parlor sometime between the summer of love and the age of disco. 

This is a parking lot and those marks are burned on blacktop or asphalt or pavement. A guy once got shot near this place and I had to look at his distal innards as they tried to slither out the colander that used to be his belly and those things were still squeezing and trying to move the mail. I tried my best to keep them inside. You don't forget a thing like that.

© Pseudocognitive

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