Pic by Mark Ulyseas

I sit here in this bar, a roadside edifice that welcomes the great unwashed and others. People at the bar are in the parenthesis of their own space…speaking into handheld instruments connecting to the ether. Their eyes dart ever so often to those around and then back to the static personification of the self packaged in a glass placed before them. The hand absented mindedly reaches for the fix…the lips suck in the nectar of decadence…and then they begin moving to the rhythm of the ether. Life for them is a reality…a disconnected reality.

Nothing is what it seems and what it seems is nothing.

He walks away…for he is connected to a world far removed from the apparent reality he witnesses.

 

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