Saturday, May 24, 2008
# SalsaShark Says:
April 24th, 2008 at 9:57 am
The night, like so many other evenings before, bore down close upon his shoulders. He heard sirens off in the distance, baying like foxhounds. As he trudged down the gritty streets, shards of glass crunching under his boots, he shrugged off the enticements of the streetwalkers and tried to avoid the eyes of the johns who sought them out – too much emptiness there, like a parrot of his own soul. He turned a corner and walked furtively to the shop of the lithographer; the metal shutter was drawn down but not locked. He reached and drew it up with a screech until it clanged home, then passed through the fortified gate as a knight on horseback rode under the portcullis of his castle in the legends of old. His mission tonight – resupplying the old man with the ink he needed for his work – gave him strength and confidence. He stepped cautiously through the cluttered store, passing a discarded pile of bunting from a forgotten rally thrown by a forgotten politician, easing his way toward the sliver of light emanating from the half-shut workshop door behind the counter. Something brushed past his leg. source is xkcd blag.
April 24th, 2008 at 9:57 am
The night, like so many other evenings before, bore down close upon his shoulders. He heard sirens off in the distance, baying like foxhounds. As he trudged down the gritty streets, shards of glass crunching under his boots, he shrugged off the enticements of the streetwalkers and tried to avoid the eyes of the johns who sought them out – too much emptiness there, like a parrot of his own soul. He turned a corner and walked furtively to the shop of the lithographer; the metal shutter was drawn down but not locked. He reached and drew it up with a screech until it clanged home, then passed through the fortified gate as a knight on horseback rode under the portcullis of his castle in the legends of old. His mission tonight – resupplying the old man with the ink he needed for his work – gave him strength and confidence. He stepped cautiously through the cluttered store, passing a discarded pile of bunting from a forgotten rally thrown by a forgotten politician, easing his way toward the sliver of light emanating from the half-shut workshop door behind the counter. Something brushed past his leg. source is xkcd blag.
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