A stale, yellow smog oozes up from the filth, shrouding the once picturesque mountains. The boulevard of broken dreams drowns in it's broken stars while the derelict crawl to you on their broken knees, begging for the change that feeds their demons. I think about this as I sweat on the hot leather seats. The tint isn't enough to shield my skin from the burn and there is no escaping the sun in this traffic. I can only hope we creep along faster than the semi just ahead, and I can doze in its shade.
Bitter Waiter by the minutes
5 days ago