an ode to futility. 2.

he stood grinning like a goddamned fool bareass pointed towards the open door all while he pissed into the fan. the sorry son of a bitch would either be a statistic or president. i just sat with my hand over my wineglass feeling the mist across my leathery cheeks. god help us all.

ode to futility

that goddamned werewolf has been shitting in the petunias again. with silver the price of gold and my plasma flakier than a call girl’s panties at the end of shift, i may as well burn the whole fucking place to the ground.