They put handcuffs on his wrists. Hooked right to the table at which he sat. The dopes. Stuck to the fantasy of control. Something that had been gone long before we found him. They clung to nothing. He just played along. The man in the chair. Whoever he was.
Tag: post apocalypse
Thousand Dollar Boxes
It was a bad idea. A fool’s errand. A sign of our growing complacency. All ego. We should not have gone that far in. Should have just stayed home. But we didn’t. Everything near the outskirts was scrapped. Nothing much left close to the river. Anything else of value gone for about ten blocks in…
The Veracious Facade 