Hitch a red Saturn to the crossroad. Make it two clicks past the tip of no return. Answer a collect call that the Pied Piper put in. “The world is a beautiful place”, now say it back. Take the escalator to the pre-show disclaimer. Get it gift wrapped, bowed up, and ready to sell for five minutes of fame, and a ticket to the country club. Spin fresh, red ink onto a plastisol contract. Make it pay dividends. Let it say, “Mercy”, to the sharpened edge of a decimal point. Passion meets action to make the heart bang, not beat. Nothing like some capital C-4 Capitalism to start the morning. 


Come back to earth. See a pack a million deep. Take a ticket. Drink the Kool-Aid. Give up. Walk home and tell your sweetheart, “I tried to sell my soul but the line was too long.”