Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Caught Red-Handed

Rifling through not so secret hiding places to support addictive habits yielded no fruit, only disappointment and guilt. Red roadways gave way to green tracks that propelled overcompensating parties forward, snaking across asphalt rivers and spinning off into a thin line of unbreachable posts, standing guard silently in the moonlight. A quick retreat revealed merely cosmetic damages, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but still calling into question recently uttered convictions. Daybreak smoothed over internal conflicts and an approaching storm ensured no swift repercussions externally.