Everyone is bored, lonely and angry and there is nothing that is unbelievable anymore. Florida is quite rapidly becoming a new Atlantis. A place so strange, foreign and unfathomable that we are destined to be reduced to myth. The homes, banks and markets are filled with Aesopian pigs, wolves, foxes but the fables they tell are nonsensical and they lives they live, the husband’s and wives, the teachers and students, the lovers, they are all a great, gold harp rotting in a landfill. Father time is drunk and abusive and his eyes are red and glossy.  

Nothing is new and all the keepsakes are outlandish. The pills keep ’em young and lovely in thier heads and the rest doesnt matter because soon the oceans will overwhelm and every night a different God looks down and scoffs and nothing but the luck keeps them afloat and they are all having the time of thier lives.

They say that life’s a bitch and that you should let sleeping dogs lie. But, once in a while, it is necessary to rattle it to its core. To drench it’s bed in gasoline and drag it out by its hair. I would drag it out over the city and hang it over the balcony and tell it to do its fucking job because Atlantis is beckoning and the burden of my city alone is enough to drag us to the sea floor.

And they are all far too tired to swim.