Cut the wires with my Russian knife. Broke through. My hands are scraped. My back is dripping. Smooth back hair and put my hat back on. I am in the place for now. Thank you RUSSIA. Wood chips and sodium lights this way. Cultivated shrubs in front of sodium parking garage.
It is toys, yes? Yes, but this is where I want to be, shake it off. This is my place. With the quite to the west and the drone of highway to my east. They are all closed off now, disconnected lights flying past my head-hanging-low-vision.
My lines led me to this cold same concrete ground. But now that I am here I see that there are two ways out 1)throught the hell I cut my way through back there, or 2) through the walkway I did not see.
My flame rolls into my own spit. My eyes are unable to focus on my own spit. I roll into the crevice and the acrid smoke stings my eyes.Rolling over my own liquid the flame goes out . Spots all around me the cold concrete on my ass again.
My blade is back through the wicked way. I get up slowly past the choked shrubs past the wall and through the tangled gate. There it was by the unused barrier. A man died there a few days ago, I heard the crash. It sounded like a snow plow on an empty street.
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