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02 dec 06|10:18pm |
the lights in the historic district of Daytona Beach are dim. you could think up a lot of different reasons as to why the lights are dim: to provide a rustic ambiance, to be more eco-friendly, because the lights themselves are also historic. I'm walking on the sidewalk which in the daytime, would be shaded by large oak trees and emaciated palm trees. while I am walking, I watch my feet -- not so much to avoid eye contact with the puzzle-piece and misguided passersby, but to ensure that I do not trip on my own two feet as I have the predilection of doing. it's so quiet where I am; the fraternity-infested bars with their shitty live cover bands as their evening's wallpaper are miles away. I can barely hear the tired drum beats and I can barely feel the sexual tension of the drunken high school girls itching to disrobe for their faceless men. I have no fucking clue where I'm going except for that I'm following the lights. and the lights in the historic district of Daytona Beach are dim -- not to make those who encounter them travel to another epoch in the past, but to conceal the large mounds of human shit that frame the pathway.
bum shit.
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