1.

Fuck Fuck Fuck. Late again. The subtle scraping of his feet on the dry sidewalk begin to hasten. Glancing up he realizes that the sun is directly above him. The young man is walking in a concrete wasteland filled with large structures of all different sizes. Graffiti is littered around the walls carelessly, some leaving a story behind in legacy, most are just meaningless symbols - the inside joke of some poor fool with a can of spray paint and reckless disregard for private property. Edging along the edge of a wall tracing his fingers along the wispy lines representing smoke pouring off of a burning flag representing a meaningless revolution in a meaningless country, he thinks to himself of the trouble he will be in when he arrives at his destination. Pulling out a cigarette from an elaborately decorated silver case, he sits down in the shade of an abandoned gas station. A much needed welcome from the scorching heat outside. What's another ten minutes. . fucking hypocrites probably are starting without me. He knew the people he was dealing with very well. They traveled in an almost aristocratic circle. Mucking about town raping honest people of every last shred of dignity they can muster up. He felt indentured to these people, and for that he resented them. With a careless shrug he stands up and casually flicks his half finished cigarette underneath a sign labeled "Smoking Kills". . .