Allergic reactions to caffeine stimulate the medulla oblongata to contort and recreate the spineless position of villains vandalizing the purple from Mountains Majesty. Jalapeno spices flavor organized throat slithers, gulping thoughts running parallel to earthworms discovering blacktop for the first time.
Gas station clerk stares blankly at packages of NoDoz dangling from hooks stationed on the wall behind the register.
“Excuse me!” A man shouts. He’s wearing a t-shirt featuring the Gadsden flag, his sagging pecs protrude the rattlesnake out from his chest like it’s preparing to strike.
“Yeah…” Gas station clerk responds as he turns to face him.
“I need a package of Marlboro.”
Gas station clerk grabs a cigarette package off the shelf.
“Things will kill you,” he says, handing him the box.
“That’s the idea.” He responds, smiling.
Noon-day shadows regulated daydreams, accosted images transpiring from priceless literature.
American stars posed for strobe-lights, reflections of passing profiles sat in the window glass of automobiles traveling along the yellow lines of brick-road fancy.
Vacuum cleaner salesman competes for doorbells against political canvassers, assembled en masse. Salesman is alone. He’s a capitalist. He’s alone. Canvassers have each other. But they feel alone. They’re not alone.
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