STUYVESANT BEE 214 by Mike Topp
Now just relax, take a deep breath, and try not to let your heart beat.
Now just relax, take a deep breath, and try not to let your heart beat.
At night, when the palm trees begin to cast shadows and the city begins to reflect the vast disparities between affluence and adversity, Stevie’s sleepless mind can no longer dream, literally and figuratively.
Just as there will be a day when I pick up my daughter for the last time, there was an evening when a lamplighter lit his last lamp.
Our Land turns particularly bleak at night; bicycles are stolen and dumpsters are torched. In the morning, users who sleep rough light spoons and burn up powders in front of little kids going to school.
He had to sleep in my single bed. Compressed between me and the radiator of my teenage bedroom. Burning his back all night.
My friend from Waffle House says if you stacked all the sausage patties they serve in one day, it would reach the top of the Empire State Building. I say, why bother?
The world’s all burning. You might as well buy yourself a pretty little (not so little) mansion. You can too: make love in the microplastics.
The teacher hated the children. Ashley with her electric fence and Michelle with her little doll and Daniel with his frog.
MOMS FOR LIBERACE !! WOODY WOODPECKER !! YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, PIGS !!
But today there was a cabin. A small, rough thing. Caked in leaves. Inside, they found old cans and an old bed and an old table. Inside, they found a calendar stuck on July 1992.