Joe's Ad

The man in black. The desert

The epitome of all deserts

The faint cloudy haze of the mountains

The devil grass

Sweet dreams, nightmares, death.

The world has moved on.

The man in black. The desert.

It was almost full

His own body dehydrated with clinical, detached attention.

Logic told him it must be done.

They had spilled blood

Logic told him it must be done.

They had burned the devil grass, of course

It burned slow.

The fire might see you, you know.

Senselessness

A charred scrap of bacon.

Screamingly monotonous purgatorial wastes.

The end draweth near

The remains were as cold as all the others.

EAT AT JOE’S!