Thursday, January 3, 2019
Trump's end times
At midnight, New Year's Eve, the whole north of town was laid at our feet like we were masterminds or millionaires. We could see fireworks go off from our high-rise aerie, marking the perfectly balanced fulcrum of the time to come and the time past. A green burst blooms at the foot of downtown, small against the horizon, then little white flashes erupt through some trees up a distant hill, the hard, blunt sounds of the explosions following well after the blossoms of light.
Burst of light...
one-two-three-four--boom
Burst of light...
one-two-three--boom
Burst of light...
one-two--boom
The fireworks are getting close.
The fireworks are coming closer.
I don't know what they'll do when they get here.
You know the saying about living in interesting times?
You and I we live in interesting times.
I'm sorry.
Brace yourself.
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