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sora wonk
Community Member
Dream City
The back alleys of Chinatown. Greasy puddles, rats, toppled bicycles. Rancid. Brick apartments and rusted fire escapes.

Sky: red, purple, gray. Dusk. A little girl lost and crying. "Where's your mother?" I take her hand. Anonymous passerby push past, heads down, all dressed in black.

I'm wearing a long gray coat. My hair hangs in greasy strands, can't tell dirt from stubble. I'm starving. It's comforting to hold the little girl's hand.

I see him in the shadowed gap between apartment buildings, sitting on a dumpster. He drops to his feet. He walks up to me. His ratty wool gloves are on my face. I realize I am a scarecrow.

I realize I am just a bag of blood and guts and scrap metal frame. My face is cloth. My skin is cloth.

When he kisses me, my shoulders twist ninety degrees. My collar bone dislocates and pokes out of my chest. Blood pours out. My spine snaps. I collapse in a heap of clothing and oozing intestines. He is covered in blood. He is also not human. He is also just a walking scarecrow. All the vampires are scarecrow puppets.

The little girl runs. The street lights turn on.

That was a really weird dream.

It reminds me--a guy behind me confessed to his friend, "Twilight was on TV yesterday."

"You watched it?"

"I watched the first two movies. And I enjoyed it."

The internet is so bad. It's so bad.

Watching porn on slow internet is not erotic.

Porn is hot in motion but when it is frozen and you are sat starting at some guy's dumb red sweaty face you begin to question your life and your decisions and it's awkward for everyone.

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