We’re consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty. These things don’t concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy’s name on my underwear. Rogaine. Viagra. Olestra. Martha Stewart. Fuck Martha Stewart. She’s polishing the brass on the Titanic. It’s all going down.
I was living in a state of was perpetual deja vu, everywhere I went I felt like I already been there. It was like following a invisible man. The smell of dry blood, dirty foot prints circling each other, that aroma of old sweat like fried chicken, the feel of a floor still warm the fight the night before.