Before sunset

She turned around to at least take in the full facial expression. Cless hadn't skipped a beat.

"What? You weren't surprised?" She wondered 

"Never surprised, just constantly disappointed, usually" Cless was trying his damnedest to seem indifferent. It was taking every muscle in his stomach to clench up. 

Too early in the work week to tell if there could be more to this. 

Real Estate

Spent a few days out here at a Tom Ferry summit in Vegas.

The part where i met up with my parents again is on one hand frightening. The other is the part where i saw other adults ( people in their mid 30's +).

Just a general sweep of the cast lets you know where you stand. I get the feeling it's a my duty to keep as youthful as possible and to keep from homogenizing.

I get the biggest kick out of the voyeurism.

Well cmon man what else are you here for?

Ive got that tiring and gnawing feeling for destruction again.
I'm going to quickly kickflip back lip that soma rail. I've got to, i need the release and to end the restlessness.

But this is what the arts did to me, i feel. How do we have these projections of ourselves in our minds and keep them there for years?

I mean if it's going to be frowned upon for me to knowingly smash personal property i've got to at least get a little of it out - whatever the consequence.

God know's I've got the body for it, all my arms and legs are in perfect condition -- better than ever ,even.

Let's get after a taste.

Is Sorrow

Cless peered at his car's stereo.

"What's on the playlist tonight, babe?"

Cless looked deeply at the digital display. There was the low hum of some fading strings from the track's synths pouring into their ears via decade old car speakers.

"Is this the right jam for the moment?" he wondered aloud

"I can't even hear it, turn it up, turn my headphones up." she had to confess

Cless knew there are times of great struggle and entropy is eternal. To be sure, most of his existence was a clear display of the balance.

"It's the Black Devil Disco Club...you never know when you'll needs Satan's backing track"

 The beat kicked in with a thwacking-rapid sequence.


THwuk Thwuk Thwuk Twhukk

You might ...know the play.

It's something akin to telepathy. You must feel it at times.
The same feeling you get when you are commiserating with the elderly. You can't really bother them, it wouldn't feel hearty. \\\

"Ah dream on!" She had to shout.

"What?" Cless detached.

"You think you're just so smooth, huh? Get the fuck out!"

"Wait, wait, so this isn't the move?"

The door slammed itself on exit.


///

That sound of thunder?

BISON MEAT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.

So. Cless has two choices here. He can terminally compete with this chap to the bitter end. Or.... he can burry him now. Right where he stands.

"well, that seems like an easy one". He says even to just himself. He even has a laugh.

So. He stalks. If only for a few seconds. Down the steps and to the butcher's room.

There's his prey . How did he become so sadistic so soon?

This is a game of logistics. We simply can't have a fair showing. Tbis is business after all.

Jordan stood there under the hums of the fan. Just perusing the morning's stats. Cless imagines his other options. How else could he commit this original sin?

By smashing Jordan's head into a waffle iron set on high? That'd be too much time for a struggle. We're trying to get back to the office before anyone ssee's we're out.

The shadows are on your side . So Cless moves in on the doorway, its wide open after all.

"HEY YOU!"

THWAAK

CLess pounds the deba deep into the back of Jordan's neck. Just between the shoulders. We could call it a perfect first attempt.

"what the faaauuugggghh" Jordan doubled over onto the cool counter and released some gushing blood. Holding onto his neck for some reassurance, he's still alive after all.

"Gimme back my knife, "

Cless grabbed the handle of the deba and pressed against the oaf's back...He claws the blade out with a crunch.


"now you're out!!"

Jordan flops over onto the nearby table and slowly lowers himself on the floor. It's looking pretty uncomfortable.

huh?

"So, what can touch you?
It's been a great few days of sleeping in and you've had lots of agreeable food to eat. At least the world isn't asking you to fire on a tired and empty stomach.

Let's see what you can do..."

"i don't get it, how does the rest of the world work this way?" Cless wonders aloud. "I mean, if i don't turn up, if i'm late or if i just don't have the goods, its pretty much disaster. Like...I'm not gonna be sleeping it off..."

"huh?" Feb looks like he's drinking a cappuccino. But Cless's eyes aren't registering any signs of life in his 'friend'.

"Sorry to get so technical with you." Cless is intent on having a good morning, so he's got to brush this shit aside.

"Surrender, bitch." Feb swiped a cuff across the warm milk-stache' formed across his upper lip. "No one gives a fuck about your schedule and how demanding you THINK things are."

"Say the words...and words become flesh..." Cless knew he was right.

"This is how the military feel right? Elitism because of circumstances? They chill around in uniform because they feel elevated by the stress they're put under?" . "No, wait. you can't even joke about that. stricken from the record. And what do you know about the military?!"

"Still beats the alternative..." Cless made a little motion to the remnants of the milk stache'. "Absolute crap."

They peered out on broadway, anxious to get just a little tan. Their problems seems so far apart. I mean , on one side you have a desk jockey, and on the other; a self-contained pugilist. Only attached by a common history.

But the attetion on the free fifteen minutes would shift on a dime.

"HOLY SHIT! Look!" Feb pointed down the avenue. An old ranger pops the curb a few blocks down and rams into a stopped Explorer. Fords made to meet.