run, oh-

10 May

shit, run- through the ghetto…

And then the instrumental bit kicks in and you are left frantic, lungs bursting, legs burning with an ache that permeates the entire body. Behind that building are the cops, you know, and your new friend in the knitted hat yells again “Run! Shit, run!” and you have no choice but to force your body onward.
Years of drugs have left you tired, twisted- and your airway constricts. You are breathing through a straw, at least until you hear the dogs behind you bark and the adrenaline kicks in, giving your muscles the absurd strength of the desperate.
You run. Oh shit, you run through the ghetto, splashing through open sewers and puddles of piss. You flail your way through low-hanging clotheslines, you kick boxes aside, you take in great wheezing bellows of air as you go. It is a run of blind fear.
And you cannot stop.

====
again. My Morning Jacket super-overdose. I’m writing flash fiction based on single lines of songs.
Oh dearie.

Will write later, maybe.

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