We labored in those dying embers of union, sexually repulsed, blood hot with Jägermeister. Standing shoulder to shoulder we talked as robots would droning ad nauseam, as if a music box had been dropped, “If it weren’t for kings, flowers would ring the coffin.” The tune mercifully disrupted by the bus’s hydraulic breaks huffing like a territorial stallion. I rushed Ellen up the steps pouring loose change down the slot machine's throat, rewarded by watching her escape through the heatless drifts without me. Gray overcoat, a man camouflaged in slow falling snow dragged his boots drawing the tails of angels in the sidewalk. He showed me the mother robin frozen inside his pocket and asked if I had any last words.
Reading a sentence or phrase, it would be impossible to predict what will come next yet we are driven to read on to find out just what you have in store for us.