The lurkers, the shirkers, and the down right dastardly nestle in the creases at the murky bottom. I want to drain the oil drums, pour them out onto the hot pavement, watch them fry up into vapors and mix with the black car exhaust hovering over our city. I picture them then floating, choking, sucking in their mistakes as they head straight for outer space and that jagged red star code named Alpha.
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