FRESH KILLED LAMB

and I walked down Halsted at four in the morning…past bars.. taverns spilling out toxins onto the sidewalks… smells of stale beer and bad colognes…

broads who scored big with men of their dreams…stockbrokers..pharmaceutical reps..a  young turk with an idea of how to make millions… they go for that sort of thing…

Mexican joints filled with sweat..farts.. free chips and salsa devoured by youth while an old fat man mutters in Spanish… packing burritos with asada, carnitas, and grilled pollo…plates painted of various colors left behind…

busses go by…cabs dart north and south while Chicago Sanitation crews begin cleaning a city that no longer works..lying in limbo.. waiting for orders from downtown that never come…

the poor ask for money… beggars begging under a sign that reads, “FRESH KILLED LAMB”… crucified out in these streets for the whores..junkies.. crackheads..drunks..crazies madly talking to parking meters… crying out for salvation.. hoping to be heard…listened to…

kept walking…just kept walking…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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