It flared, it burned, it squeaked on the surface a little odd, the formality of the borders and informal mesh of day-glo colors, all adding the continual tweaking of the bit.
And there it sat, sometimes for awhile.
Sometimes, it was enough, the offender deciding to take a break at the next exit,
Let it go.
That attention was not unwarranted, though neither minutely planned. It was a question, where to go?
Somewhere. But there has to be something extra, a bending to the ways, accepting what you really saw. React, become a wave, a distortion, an oddity to kick some gear into the whole arena, right down to that damned soda jerk.
It was hardly concocted by the owner, owing to its cheap attainment. No, not stolen. Just cheap. The van, what a van. Vacuous. Odd, possibly. Crazy, a little. Bent, sure. On that highway. Actually there, bringing a packed hull back to that one magnet, hell, Reality takes a couple bruises.
All's fun. Sometimes.
Yet.... Law and.. you know. That vague rock beneath which thrive bands of dark dwellers, seekers of more muck, their power. They've taken the reins of a philosophical moral question and turned it into a gun, a badge, some sunglassed, hopefully a club. Damn fine club. And it cannot be questioned when the sighting occurs, a sleek, dark vehicle piloted by future monsters coasts into the consciousness, and those inner pangs begin, the natural alarm, bringing it all to bear.
Again and again.
No comments:
Post a Comment