overheard:
“… this guy totally has a horror fridge in an abandoned house somewhere …”
location:
auto mechanic waiting room
subject:
1998 bmw sedan
The sickest burn I’ve ever heard.
The United States doesn’t have roads.
Especially Atlanta.
And Florida, it seems.
No, roads take you places.
Point A to B.
Our freeways are shellacked, pothole ridden, rage inducing, personal paved purgatories.
Regardless of the hour … it’s just, ugh, Kubrickian?
Los Angeles!
Those woolly mammoths in the tar pits?
I get it now.
Just stop moving.
Embrace a sense of place and become one with it.
Just orange and black.
No exits.
Is there a Sonic level called ‘Finer Things,’ in which you trigger Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, using mallets, marbels, and various Rube Goldberg mechanisms or did I just randomly dream that up?
Thank you subconscious.
Vision generator is on point.
I find the umbrellas on the tar pavers hilarious.
There’s something.
—louis hernandez
Flommist Louis Herdandez is obsessed with going Bauhaus and becoming The Machine. Preferably a drill press. Copyright © 2021 Louis Hernandez.
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