Once upon a time I had a reason to write, a purpose. Now there is nothing that moves me enough to risk an opinion. 

If the devil ever took a shit on earth, thee event must have took place in a spot in northern Arizona. It would have been a massive defecation that brought tears to his eyes, which created a river. The Colorado River that the dive of two cities survives on. Welcome to “Bullshit City” and “What a Laugh-lin.”

 

These towns are desolate holes. A stretch of desert where dry tumbleweeds and trash frolic. Pits where old wrinkles visit while snow birding. Silvering elders all lined up in old casinos teetering on being condemned, much like themselves.

Breathing tubes and decapitated limbs pressing on lighted buttons. The old peoples wadded hundreds going into the feeds of the machines never to be seen again. A ghost town where the dead live. Spending their social security checks on false hopes and bad buffets. All of them praying to hit the mega jackpot and run off to Florida.

Most of their lives drained away doing the “All American Dream;” a nine to five job. Saving money all their lives into a retirement fund that is never enough to buy two small homes and live comfortably. Instead, they buy travel trailers and pickups, carting their tin boxes around to golf courses and dives like this.

Like the dull needled stickers of half eaten cactuses, the natives to this land are similar in the fact half their brains are gnawed with drugs. Empty witted, and reproducing at a quickened rate, these jackrabbits laze their days away in the blistering sun adding injury to cause. Scrabbled eggs of brains, these people are always inviting and friendly.