The Hearing

Ding dong!

The bell rang out from the concrete arena across the courtyard. Politicians and theater kids trickled from the cafés and bodegas, funneling towards the next big decision, nap time for many, like a shower drain, slowly leaking into the bowels of polite society, hoovering up filth and waste on its way to a stagnant pool of primordial excess.

On the docket: the secretary of HHS was recently photographed (by choice) swimming in a parasitic cess pool with his grandchildren. What to do?

The dank, gaudy room smelled of expired perfume, coffee stains, fossilized carpet shmutz and half of the women on both sides snuggled into the memory foam for a snooze.

Another fart and a flush and the door swung open to the general public, clinging to any piece of shit in their path.

Arthur picked a piece of spinach from his gums and replaced it with a Zyn. Sweat already pooling in dark places.

Susan fixed a new shade of purple and caught a glimpse of the sly bastard fixing his fly. Dark places.

up:: 🖋 Writing Journal