Bigweld and his mom's shoes, filled with cream cheese and doodie doos, teeth like fungus, hearts on fire, let them all perish in the doomspire!
"I don't know how much longer I have," he said, cigarette in hand, lit by the blaze of the sun's rays as it set off into the west. Nightfall was approaching rapidly, and the darkness seemingly increased exponentially as the sun bolted away from the man out of fear. It was a low and downtrodden Sunday evening, a foggy day had occurred, and the whispers and bells from the early church morning service still rang in the man's ear. "Don't give up man," his friend responded, and though the response was very performative and shielded, the performance came from a place of genuine care and empathy.