Walking out of the drug store with the water pistol that looked real enough to him, albeit the bright orange end in his hand, he strolled easily down the street. Not sure of what to do next, he walked towards the white house attempting to break off the orange nose of the water pistol. “Won’t work at all,” he half thought half said aloud. Finally breaking it off, he decided after some deliberation that the orange piece was going in the garbage and not on the ground. He would not have is his second to last action on the earth be littering.
Finally he arrived at Lafayette park, right in front of the White House. “What a piece of tainted shit that is,” he yelled. There were snipers on every building he knew, but hadn’t really formulated a plan. More shooting from the hip – the way he’d always done; playing every situation as a hand dealt to him, the same as a coin lands how it lands.
A secret service cop finally walked up to him after several minutes of ridiculous tantrums. He had begun to wonder if they would ever bother to enforce their police state. He’d already called most the people’s names he could remember any number of epithets for their character, their actions, their livelihood.
“How are you today, sir?” the stern young face asked in pubescent tones.
Tourist
I have seen summer in the winter and hate nested among love; Toppled trees and fat cruise ships seems it should be the opposite – and everyone is just happy they’re not in the sugar cane fields (anymore). I wonder at my assumptions for the world’s ambitions and perhaps when the 3rd world is your … Read moreTourist