The light reflecting off the pools of murky dirt bacteria infected slime is grey and shinning rainbow colored patterns of oil cover the top with thin layers of toxic waste. Smoke and smog, mixed in with what appears to be rain clouds that do nothing but lurk above the ground and the mud and wait, for the gloom to lift and spirits rise before ripping apart in a downfall of watered down coal and dirt and grit. It can be tasted on the tip of tongues as it bounces off the earth. Salty. Like it has jumped a couple of steps in the weather cycle and the sea has arrived at the city in a fucked up doomsday experience, the cement towered blocks engulfed by the immensity of the ocean, corroding away what is left of the shit stink putrefacting air-born sewer. On the river there are chunks of molten plastic, carcasses of a various specimens and runaway barrels of plutonium that drag along at the bottom, unseen by the junkies and the methheads that take their first wash of the week in a baptism of radioactive death. Soon they will develop bat wings and fly above the city at night, hunting cats, dogs and children left behind on the rooftops of the lower slums. But don´t mind them, the day is almost over in their summer fly lives…Ten miles away, on the other side of the city the game has yet to begin for one unsuspecting third class capitol slave. Between the clone factories and the waste dumps. Hidden amongst the titanic towering rebel offices lie the streets that are dark and haunted with early risers and never ending sleepers that walk towards the tube trains and towards nowhere and dying in the porches. Wisps of smoking crack clawling in their lungs and rotting away the white porcelain teeth in their mouths. The stage is set. It is Monday 16th 2095, time is 0620. The city is 800 days old and it has eighty days before it crumbles away into the wind with a tumbling dance of sorrow, regret and half-forgotten night terrors. Oh the shame oh the joy, oh the endless tears. Now, begin.

It’s early in the morning. The noise is starting to drift and bounce from wall to ear pierced head ache, fucked into oblivion from 10 pm to 3 am by cheep 50 proof booze. Bleach that eats away at vocal chords until at six and a half hours of the day nothing comes out but a whisper. Outside footsteps walk. Little sounds of rats scuttering along the ventilator shafts that have no purpose but carve tunnels for vermin and snakes in the fucking ceiling. Who doesn´t hate snakes. No cockroaches around. You just know something bad is going on when those little fucks aren´t crawling and shitting in the fridge  turning every morsel into swish cheese.
I need a smoke. He needs a smoke. 25% tobacco 110% death.
There´s a buzzing sound in the air that could either be a wasp’s nest in the bed set or a policecopter flying above the building or the milky shit breath executioner calling about a ball sucking. Buzzzz buzzzz buzzzz. Again. From the desk top this time. Aaah yes. Bouncing along dubidubida look how that fucker dances, creeping into a pool of alcohol and some brown sticky stuff that looks like it could be lard. No it has to be ear wax. PICK IT UP. With hands that are like claws, side effects from inhaling 8pp of shark dust good for 24h slave shifts and butt sex no so gud for taking calls. Yes, I hear you.

Nothing that comes out the other end of the line is good news. Who would make courtesy calls anyway with a guy that shares a smoke with a circus of crackheads, junkies, losers, deadmeats for just about 200 a month heat and life insurance not included. Don´t blow your blow up your nose too hard honey our building has a very delicate frame thank you. The call ends in under a minute. Time is money money money and time is on my side. Time to rock and roll my baby, feet hit the floor. Nine inch junk stuffed into a pair of underwear, just five credits from the underground, only. SWEET. Pause. Another sound coming from somewhere now. What is it? Ah the flies! True survivors of the nuclear holocaust, evolving over the years into reptile brained parasites. Fucking monsters. Looks at them. They´re like mothballs that have been fed on a diet of crack cocaine and speed for over a month and given wings. Wait…No, that´s too much of a terrifying idea.
The floor captivates a beautiful sticky/gritty essence to itself today, drawing a line with a fingernail it truly has a life of its own. No showers to greet the sunshine, we live in the caves baby. Water has such a high concentration of sulfuric acid these days anyway. Fuck with the grove, here we come. Put on a three piece dragon skin suite, the real deal. Hair has more grease than the black hole of a junkie’s asscrack. We a needle, we need ta get some. How much are we gonna fuck ourselves up with this time honey. About 25-30. Aaaaaaaahh yesssss. THAT IS GOOD. The wrinkles are crawling away, give the eyeballs an electric blue undertone, fucked up. BLASTED. Ready to go, ready to rock ´n fucking roll. The door has a very chic vintage look to it.  Tape about two kilograms of TNT to the frame and the wall. Set it at four hours, flat. Code 1-0-1-4-6-5. This is gonna be guuuuud.
The walls in the hallway are covered still in shit and pig blood from the other week. Crackwhores on the ground resting against the doorframes. Mumbo jango mumble mumble. High as a kite from lack of being high. Fuck them. Bare foot like a Beatle waling down acid eaten stairs. Chink import elephant skin on the feet, napalm proof my man.
Open the door and step outside. The temperature has already risen to a brain frying 56· C. Green tar from the bio neurological research plant five miles away, oozes along the ground emitting poisonous vapor, suffocating bystanders too broke to afford basic lung protective armor. Schizophrenic anti-Maoist slogans plaster the crumbling walls. On the corner a lardass greasball with no legs or eyes chants the five commandments of post-modern neofacism while ringing a brass bell.
   “Thou shall stand brave in the hall of darkness.”
Dong!.
   “Thou shall not indulge in anarchy.”
Dong!.
    “Thou shall not follow false prophets.”
Dong!
    “Follow the circle and the cycle shall follow Thou.”
Dong!
A group of heroin children aged at a guess between 10 and 13 silence him by covering him with gasoline and setting him on fire. He doesn´t scream. The act draws a brief round of applause from every eye witness, noted. Rules of the jungle.
Call a blue cab. Yellow cabs are on jihad since November 23rd. Beautiful firework display for all it´s worth, the holy Mecca blown into the stratosphere by those sons of a pig fucker down in New Washington. Good riddance sweet prince. Good riddance. What a joke anyway, the Queen Virgin took about 250 mgr. of Moonshakers alongside eight inches of the finest up her asshole, or so says the Guide to First Millennia Modified History. Hypocrisy, taken on board like it´s nothing but hyper induced delusional brainwaves what you gonna do.
Looking around you can see elegant streams of artificial fireflies floating along a couple feet off the ground, leaving behind beautiful sped up psychedelic beam tracers like a motorway in the air. Most of them must be spyware and hidden PornoJunkieCams by now. Specialized upgrades.
Now amongst the bullet cabs, peace keeping meatheads jump the curb onto the electrified tarmac. Back and forth in a portrayal of 1st degree Non-Felony Madness. The blue cab is just over two minutes late. Temperance my friend temperance. The guy is probably shoving cocaine balls up his asshole, early in the morning as it is. Gotta give the man some hard owned time these days, nobody else is gonna give you a fucking break. Too many unbrain toughfucks fucking around with their wisecracks, what you gonna do.
A couple of legs away poison and virus swingers hand out HIV infected needles for 50 apiece. Not bad for something good if it´s a couple of months at best. Cold swing around for seven days maybe hit a first marker whatdoyaknow. Pass. Had a few goes on one hell of a fucked up black skin rot, evaporated the ass cheeks in under two days, straight. The blue cab arrives at last, speeding like a demented horse ridder made out of steel and ecoplastic fused with titanium alloy, knocking over a couple of oxygen tanks pissing clean air into the atmosphere. Disgusting, cover your mouths. Several feet away a cocodrill hooker can´t stand the stench of cleanliness and takes its last putrifacting breath. Sweet.
Open the cabie. The inside smells like death and African purple skunk. The air is THICK, can´t see a goddam thing. Inhale; slight high induced second degree exposure. PTSD flashback for a couple of seconds and gone. Under control. Sweng-shie is the master of my mind my baby. Where you wanna take your trip kid. Take me outta here I’ll fill you in along the way. Let me choke a smoke. The air is cool to give it some credit, blue cabs are pretty top of the notch with life insurance attached for extra cash. Just as well give the tendency to explode in a  theatrical ball of flames at the least expected moment. Covert advertising taken the next level I tell ya. Cabie boy is going on and on about some blow up down in 34th, the guy is probably fucked up on Malaskatin since three, takes the mind away from the job. Must have about 2-3 months give or take before that junk spreads wing inside his underbrain like a shit stain of mega narcissism. Has a scorpion brand on the inside of his left arm. Owned by the RPD, untoachable. How many little shits he has back at the squat I wonder, fucked into the next millennia what a fucker haha. Take me to the Golden Tower my man. Right on kiddo be there in five.
Ok here we go. Credit? Check. Heart powder? Check. Bio gun? Check. Infra-red eye lenses? Check. Two grams of the finest north Californian gold rush?. Well shit look at that let me give it a poison test. SNNNNIIIIFFFFFFFF aaaaaaaaahhhh. The man the man we´re gonna see the man.
Cabie boy is still going on fuck me what you say my man.
   “She´s your kid man? Nice how old.”
   “Gonna be twelve this October sunny, just coming around the time to give her some medically induced pain trauma, really good for the psyche ya know?. Sets them on track and takes the edge off, you know how they are my man”. And on and on. Sure thing boy. Tint the windows the underbelly has a particularly fucked up tone to itself this morning. Traces of acid smog in the air dancing with a suave swinging here-we-come-here-we-go-here-we-gonna-stay forming drops of black stained acid dew on the cement. Crackheads throwing balls of shit at each other with rusting needles sticking out of their arms and their eye sockets. Maybe four, five dead bodies lying amongst the mud and the bullet shells left over from a couple of weeks ago. Look at that, three generations of fucked up lying on the curb how adorable. A faint melody of Purple Haze from the megaspeakers makes its way into the cab. Celebration of the anniversary of the jimmy Hendrix experience killin spree back in ´82. The cabie frame must have cheap sound inhibitors. Nevermind. Probably got it fixed in an all for one GimmeaBlowjob for 250 a set.
Mechanical crows and semi-bio vultures picking at the leftovers of decaying brain matter sprayed onto the tarmac, doing God’s work. Gotta wash away the scum somehow. Inhale; smoke is gone, doesn´t matter here we are. Cabie boy does a miscalculated turn, fucked up by the high everything goes too slow. Skid it, control it. Shhhhhhii nah we´re good. Silence for a couple of seconds look at that, let me catch a breath. That will be 45 kiddo. Sure thing keep the fucking change.