One day they'll only know us by our fossilized Nike footprints, the trail of our dead fingernails, crushed energy drink cans and broken glass, the processed and compacted plastic waste that is the chilling evidence of our landfill site existence. Like hidden tombs from better worlds, scorched earth and smashed devastation, all to hide the buried remains scattered across the valley's of the fools, who once considered themselves kings.
The petrified prehistoric turds ex-campervan B&Q buckets with a high KFC, Domino's Pizza and craft ale content giving a kind of immortality to their former owners - kings, with a small k, of the potholed roads. Nothing noble will be found in this anonymous wreckage except the occasional aero industry designed black box. All completely covered by a thick layer of meteorite dust, ash and debris. What was it they were running from and why in those shoes?
No comments:
Post a Comment