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Destruction with the window cracked

 

I didn’t find the coast until the storm hit, the road kept going strectched out through a wasteland of old storms that never would reach until the storm just hit

I did not find it works wonders with the empty afternoon and too much gas and a empty bottle of aspirin until the storm hit, the mud mixing on the mats with whatever you can spare

I will try to be there tomorrow when the storm shows up again,
my small taste through the cracked window enough to last the night through, reused grinds cold and weak even on a new fire

(and it will X itself on Sunday,
and even itself Monday with a little more invested than batteries and wood scraps and a half bag of melted ice, and other found arrangements meant to contain a scrap of time)