January 31, 2009


On the outskirts of a dried up and thirsty town there's a little unsuspecting speakeasy where the youth go to drink four-dollar beer bottles and drop them on the ground. They like to climb on top of each other, lifting one another up in hopes that perhaps all of their feet will leave this place individually and ascend into the godless skies. Each one hoisted, until the last one still chained to the ground is left to ascend on their own accord or remain to perish in this place. Worn down rubber soled shoes on the vinyl flooring in a strip mall surrounded by parking lots and homes.
'Nothing but those broken beer bottles, but at least the rest of them made it.'

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