untitled prosepome still again: august '98

Transition is the feeling of sitting your ass down and waiting for enough cars to drive by after the concrete turns into precious mud. The shapes of former tickers litter the implanted mold like a patient killing-ground.
-Tick-
I got a new one. Instead of an empty room with no sockets for the tube, I recommend sliding into spots before the occupants get there. Guerilla living in the blank tofu chunks of time.
-Tick-
Or you could just get there late and be like all the other folks stroking their way to leg-arteries. I only notice the ground when everyone decides to do something else.