|When they find me lying wounded in their driveway, . . .
||[Oct. 26th, 2016|07:30 pm]
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)
. . . cursing and shouting inanities because of the searing pain, they just think I'm one of them and don't bother to try to assist me. Hell, no one's assisting them and never has. Broken doesn't mean anything to them; it's just the noise of what passes for life in their bizarre little world.