The Great Wake 38: Clear The Stink

 

No one escapes the wrath.  The tossing out is set to begin in sixty days.  To the street with these fools, leave them on the pavement, mercy is for the humble.  The robotic trash truck will come sooner or later, don't get near them.  Nasty.

Gurgling words, not understanding definitions, unable to articulate syllables, coughing goo into a hanky, eyes squinting through surgical lids.  This man is shrinking, this man is little, a mental breakdown, a puke, an asshat.  Turn up the red lights, that's what really gets him off.  Same as his son, laptops and lap dances.  And yellow pills to avoid a bodily function mess.

Bribed and blackmailed, he'll read anything off the screen.  Hide behind brain decay, hide behind a cootie mask, take no questions from the truly curious, answer for nothing.  The mud awaits, plenty of gutters around, drain the city.  Scrape the scum, no chemical is strong enough to dissolve the filth.  Clear the stink.