Wither and Mither

Wilting under an unforgiving sun is the very promise of capitalism. Discarded and at home amongst the craggy graveyard of ill-conceived ideas. A barista calls a name. Desperately and nigh a whisper. No one answers.

Treads worn and arches sagging. This shoe has seen many miles far and wide. And is now finally at rest. Laces forever unfurled. Tongue parched and panting in the sun. It's right companion long abandoned.

Little foosball player has played his last game. The stadium lights have dimmed and the roar of the crowd has ceased. He cleaves to the few nuggets of memories he has left. The evergreen days of goals and glory. Now he's permanently offside. Waiting for a whistle that came long ago.

Sweet, sweet remedy for the wear-and-tear of existence. The promise of respite laying dormant within narrow plastic cylinders. A hypodermic halcyon hoarding all the unearned serotonin left rattling in your brittle brain.

Call it art. Call it poor furniture design. Or call it what it really is: Unchecked obesity epidemic afflicting our once great nation. What happened to our ingenuity and innovation? We used to make things in this country. Now we're just overweight serial chair-manglers.

You've somehow strayed far from the sea, little shell. No ocean spray or salty keen of seagulls to be found in the Valley. Just decay and despair. In oceanic quantities.

(Editor's Note: Take the high road. Do not make a Demolition Man reference).

These boots were given the boot. Zipper red with rust and gotten-rid-of. And there they'll sit. Slowly Alzheimer-ing and forgetting the sensation of having a taut calf sliding into it's eager maw. Purpose a distant echo of a shadow of a whit of a remnant.

"We got no food. We got no jobs. OUR PETS HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!"

And all over Los Angeles walls go without a lick of graffiti. Gangs have no outlet to express themselves. Communities begin to develop pride. Neighbors start to walk around at night again. Confidence and a sense of civic dignity takes hold. The horror. The horror.

Lock away your hopes and dreams. Within flimsy cork drawer. And leave it on the side of the road. Seemingly arm out and thumb up. As cars stream by and refuse to stop. Hitchhike to the horizon, little dream cabinet.

And get as far away from this place as possible.