Where the freaks and geeks of the West collect themselves and arbitrate their indulgences. Bare legs forever, infinitely strung across the pavement- shining, glistening femme Fatales strutting their rumps.
Eternal vice is eminent and we see shining wagons and platinum chariots; the death of many a glamourous soul. Wide eyed and shut, tight vested, jackbooted pseudo thugs with black goatees carve holes in to the walls and unfortunate bimbos plead for their share of the pie. Future hooligans and desperate Wildes whizz by, out doors, through marble walls chasing fizzling dreams.
Top knot, man bun, artsy fart samurai jacks with glasses under dark ceilings pay you no mind, silly fat man dressed to impress flashes a permanent smile, “Have a good night sir!” “Have a good day!” even the children suck on dwindling lollipops, messy and beautiful with their tousled hair. And these hurried characters, all of them with their square portals masking their tensed faces. What happens this night? Smirks, lies, frustration, sugary turmoil; hunched over they stare with dead-redded eyes knowing that it will never end. Even though this is the end, my lonely friends.
And when the night cools a parade, not unlike a legion of ants tumbles across the concrete pavement and black rock risking collision with the freight trains of the street, already they have readied themselves for a most horrid death, weaving between the brown trunks and green topped promenade. Who knows for how long it will last. Certainly nature will cut down this jungle. Be it tsunami or earthquake or nuclear disaster. But until then, the show must go on- led by a translucent and muscled leader.