Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

Outside the diner, the dark concrete of the city cast deep shadows in the rain that seemed to cut through, corral, and dull the already wan lights that did nothing to keep the night at bay. I couldn't help but wonder when those black towers would collapse upon themselves and all come crumbling down in an avalanche of stone and blood. The rich thought their money and distance would save them from their casual cruelty. Maybe they thought their exploitation would go unnoticed as the planet died under their greed, hoping that sports, movies, video games, and drama would keep us blinded until it was too late. They didn't understand that we are still so very wild and that their insults "uncivilized" and "barbaric" wouldn't protect them from the ensuing violence that would be the direct consequences of their actions.

"More coffee?" Teeny asked, leaning over the counter and sloshing around the half-empty pot.

I shook my head and returned to staring at the city. "No thanks, I've had enough."


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Comments (1 so far!)

Five Cacti in a Trench Coat

Five Cacti in a Trench Coat

I like this, looking forward to more :)

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