I would leave Pascom to pursue my sojourn to a tranquil life in a paradise I would own. Outside from these blinds was the blinding gaze of the sun beaming amidst the horizon where the sea extended further to the north, or the east, or the west, or the southern.
Nevertheless, this would be my life, the very life I would be taking. I am here, watching the view as the palm groves from the city streets of Miami trailed through the lanes where cars and bimbos meet. Florida, the heaven I knew. At times I am still called by everyone that I know, even to my friends, even to Miss Puce that knew me more, more than I knew her.
A gun is on my table, and outside of the doorway is where I am. Tantalized as how the calm waves surf rotely amidst the sands, how each clout of the lazy ocean is as calming as the rest. This must be heaven. Away from all dangers and all perils, and nightmare. Miss Puce would often say gibberish things on the other line, but the Swan had been taken care off by its own caretakers. And its children? They were all messianic delusionally inclined people that wanted nothing more but a piece of their own mother. Maybe that's what she'll get, after all, if nutrition is scanty, and if alternatives had gone lean, meager, only the mother will be their own answer to the daily problems and struggles of modernity. I would always retort. I am Mac Demarco's Another One. The Swan lake, that's where all tales and wags would condense through before disintegrating.
YOU ARE READING
LANDLINE PASCOM
Misterio / SuspensoSimon Vincent, a man troubled by the monotony of his fastidious life, forever engulfed by the toxicity of neon is forced to take calls every night to due the bidding of these antediluvian fellows that plagued the soil of the ever blooming city of Pa...
