I zipped my coat up to the neck, worried now that going to the march was more dumbass than I'd thought. It got closer—the only frigging thing in the road!—and I realized I was shaking. I couldn't move.

the deep of night

You lames tryna clone my style and run wit it.

Free to go in rags, to live like beasts, to die unpitied and be thrown into a hole, or left to rot i' the sun--call ye this freedom, forsooth?