Wanting Right On Red Comments

At next intersection I stop to wait yet again. To the left I see the pump of the gas station, the hearse stomaching its fill, backdropped by the retention pond of piranha. Here I am, yes, stopped yet again, blood draining like drives of days and the long waits as if I am made, and made again rigor mortis over and over, no end.

And then a flatbed truck of trees, Birnam Landscaping, makes the opposing green my left to right. Are we all on our way to Dunsinane? Are we all running from the dead?
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