Monday 31 August 2009

Red Ink Part 3.

Everyone's talking about those fucking messages.

It's sickening.

The news could be better used for so many other stories.

Sure, it's expected when a new message turns up, but not a whole damn week of "Um-ing and Ah-ing" about what the hell they mean.

But that's the media for you. Always there to hype the people into a fearing frenzy, at the mercy of the fucking corporations.

I can't blame them. If I were a lesser being, I'd be cowering under the table too.

But I'm not.

I'm the god of N.Y.C.

A lone being, forced onto the earth to forage and survive amongst the mortals that fear his image.

Nobody makes my city into their personal fucking canvas.

What to do, what to do...

Triangulate the pattern of messages?

Too much work...

I suppose I'll just have to go along with the crowd... See what I can pick up on...

...

Another bulletin? Another message?!

Central Brooklyn... I can be there in 5.

Look out. Here I come.

No comments:

Post a Comment