Day 9 (Hippy in the city)

Here we are in precious wasted time clawing at our heaving veins while searching out a way to avoid animal flesh and those bulbous tear filled eyes of the inflated chest wielding models plastered to the side of our gas guzzling transportation devices wheels churning dinosaur burning their way into the future.

We dance on the slow wave crash into the climate of a culture meant for swift change in a rotary fashion compared most eloquently to the slicing wonder of the lawn mowers blade as it tares the tender green tops off our ever growing grass collection to achieve the aesthetic protection that breeds the prideful swollen chest of the balding male found on page three of this months Sears catalog, and in the end no one sheds a tear for Roebuck and his mighty fall from shimmering monthly mailbox entry.