Maybe I'll go down to the abandoned flour mill and transubstantiate some garbage, shoot some turds. Get myself a winter car and one of them jobs down at the ship wrecking yard or the fucking crap factory. Move to one of those funereal little streets where the houses collapse faster than my ersatz personality. Sometimes I think I should just evaporate into heaven so a cloud can be seeded with the Catawba wine squeezed from my rotted kidneys by angels with insensate Eastern bloc eyes. Sunsets over the brownfields look exactly like you'd expect they would.
Consolation Site: Buffalo