Terminal Station

The piss vapor settles over everything.  The bum's rotting teeth.  The dirty television screen which offers nothing but static, and the occasional twisted form.  Newspapers and coffee cups roaming around on their own.  A bench, carved into artwork.

Ponder the perfection of insects, the cockroach, the earth worm, blood parasites.  They fed on the dinosaurs, and proto-humans.  Now, the television soaked brains of modern youth.  Poisoned with information.  Too much to handle or process.  It enters the body through the syringe, pills, contaminated food, delicacies, and candy.  It burrows into the cavities, is absorbed through the skin, and is transmitted through radio waves.  We broadcast it, and rebroadcast it.  Photocopied conversations coat everything like a film.  Wash it off in the hot shower.  Words, letters and sentences run down the drain like centipedes.

The bum starts to cough so violently I expect to see a gentle sprinkling of blood on the newspaper blanket.  His bloated blue-green hands hold the sides of his head.  He starts to settle down.  The chittering click of the departure sign sings in the vibrating light of the station.  The pizza shop is closing.  The smell of the oven's sealed off behind an airtight gate.  Those few warm molecules were our only nourishment.  Now we gasp, gape our mouths, wirelike teeth straining the air for lingering particles.  When there is nothing left we are forced to venture out...into the city.