|theres truth in advertising, or so they say. im surrounded by truth and light and free will. i sleep with the television on. like an incubator chick being factory farmed, the television is my mother. my god. my truth. and underneath my suit, i itch. the garden grows. the seeds have been sown. i am a product of all i've been shown.
and i smile and clutch the handle of my briefcase just a little tighter, as i pass the police at the main station downtown. inside my briefcase, the package begins to move.