You said something about the world ending today; how when you stepped on the curb, the concrete crumbled beneath you like a cracker. The sun shifted in the sky like a theater spotlight. “I must be the star in the devil’s workshop,” you told me. The sky had the face of a cyclops with a burning iris following your every move.
You said something about the world ending today; how when you got into your car to go to work, the incoming traffic looked inviting. The drivers slumped over their steering wheels, shaking themselves awake with a cup or two of java, kept to their designated lanes like a pack of zombies. You wanted to join in even if it meant going head-to-head with a school bus.
You mentioned something about the world ending today;