:: Empty dead babies; searchlights on. ::

:: Wednesday, July 31, 2002 ::

Definite thunder rolls haphazard across plains of ochre wheat. An adipocerous fungus clings like a grey haze, ossifying at random nodes into glass shards. The shards liquefy like molten wax and resolve into a comfortable restaurant scene. Formica-topped chairs and wood tables painted a glossy fire-engine red. Luau lights and small DJ booth with a pair of turntables. Cranberry juice and lemonade whet the throats of a struggling, stranded neo-beatnik youth culture abusing its bodies through voluntary vegetarianism.
:: OwenF 2:37 PM [+] ::
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