sac re LIGious

tomorrow morning we were cruising at a steady altitude of seventy five thousand hectars when suddenly BLAM POLICE K9 UNITS EVEN THE MAN WHO PLAYS SANTA CLAUSE WERE THERE. it was hilarious until spencer the whale dropped a 10 pound note from the washing machine of a roadside berry hawker. chaos ensued. people were pissed. very pissed. we steadied ourselves against the oak trees nearby. alligators emerged from the swamp, checked out the noise. people were pissed.
nobody in sight had a cigarette. everybody had matches. we wondered what intangible forces might be trying to tell us something our fragile minds couldn't handle or grasp. after years of faithfully and concistently abusing our bodies, all we craved was booze. sleep wasn't even an option. women appeared. heads shaved, sporting identical tattoos above their navels. letters and numbers, some sort of tracking code, identification marker. at the rate we were going insurance wasn't something we considered as a part of reality. and who would afford it if we did?
we left no footprints. we had no souls. we broke windows and hearts, smeared blood on the bar stools and saddled up horses in winter.
the golden age would be our friend again.