There is not a more perfect picture of man's ugliness than that of S**********. The scourge of all things striving toward beauty and absolution. A tick the size of a city. An invading species of suffocating kelp. A farm of subsistence misery, encapsulates forgotten terrain.
Dissonance reeks in every shadow, while grace cowers in neglected reservations. Traffic lights abound, as breathing apparatus for the ignominious. Lice, behind painted slabs, breed without hesitation. For boom and bust, in fog we trust.
At the General, the grand frame, the wicked altar, a palace of filth, all the glaring instances of vulgarity this hateful mess contains are held. As if on show in a state museum, a pageant for successful mutations, an atrocity exhibition.
What a place for one to die. What a place to say goodbye.
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