Kyle drove up to Tom, who was walking on the sidewalk about a few clicks away the apartment. Kyle's so called "home". "Heyo" he mumbled in his broken down jeep, puttering by the side of the cracked, unrepaired road. The white and yellow stripes down the rodeo are fading into obscurity. Like a piece of lost media, drifting somewhere on the mariana trench of the world wide web. He said past his pale blue paned window "whatcha doin". "Going to spray paint David's stupid sports car or whatever it is. You should join, He's not just a pain in the ass to you." Kyle paused for a moment. "I" the words seemed to hang just on the edge of his lips, anticipating a kiss. "I dunno man, seems like… man i don't fuckin know just… leeme park by the gas station up there and we can talk 'about it some. Tell us what, I'll buy us some hot pockets." "Hell yea!" Tom exclaimed, dopamine of anticipation swinging, pulling him to a different mindset. Kyle picked up speed, going past and away from him as he went on rambling to the gray sky with silver marinated clouds about how much he loves them, and when I say he loves them he LOVES those hot pockets.

"I don't know man, Seems kind of fucked up." Kyle preaching to another on a pulpit. Constructing an argumentative essay like you would in 3rd grade, for something other than the hate that Tom so adimetly chased. "Like, Ain't avenge God's whole deal, people will get what's coming to them, so just wait." no human is perfect. I wasn't. Something that needs to be stopped, something that's in the way of humanity actually progressing, is their love to watch the downfall. No matter if it's a hero or a villain. They will always watch with glee at the spectacle of a man killed in the colosseum of fame, a ruthless duality of love and hate, a yin and yang if you will, be slaughtered, ripped, murdered with his own glory and agony. Comedy and Tragedy. The spear of laughter when another generational icon falls after another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another. John Lenon Not your type? Well just try Kurt Cobian or maybe Chester Bennington. You will never get your fill.

"Suit yourself" spouted Tom, Showering Kyle with Contradictions to a love so powerful it remains undescribed with words to this day. "I'm jus sayin', God uses people to do his handiwork. And besides, it's not about seeing him fall, jus about giving him what's coming' to him." I believe, in my daughter's time, there was a man by the name of Martin Luther King. He stood for peace didn't he? Yet the people nowadays on earth tear and burn buildings in the name of peace, love, and tolerance. I've never seen a more direct spit in God's holy and all-righteous face. And no, tolerance is not love. To tolerate is to say something okay, you will let it happen. There needs to be more action in young people these days, dammit! They say it's okay and let everyone sing all willy nilly Telling God's design is not good enough by implanting plastic in themselves, saying God's design is not what they wanted by drilling holes in their crotches, telling God's son that He's not enough to save them by slitting their wrist, telling you that their truth is their truth and there's no universal truth! No rhyme or reason to exist for anything. So we've come full circle, but not really.

"You know what" Kyle said against the bright yellow shinedown of the backdrop of glass. Tortured souls of the sands and fake matter, sold as real. "Your right, let's get down" He said as they rose from their criss, cross, applesauce formation, like soldiers leaving home for Iran. Thinking that what they will do will help the world when in actuality, it only leaves a bitter aftertaste. Some people would say "at least there is a taste. The sweetest of tastes come from compassion, love for another, providing for the people around you.

Venus's children have rejected Mount Sinai under their own power. They said something about "too many rules"