The Casino Dims Its Lights.

Goddamn this world is just too sticky for the tamed little chunk of flesh that sizzles across a neon dancefloor with a crooked grin. Green shades, breath like a punch to the inner ear, dripping ego, loose tongue; he has all of them intact and feels like a million bucks after a defunct transaction. He kills time like a professional. He isn't street legal. He loves to jossle your boot straps while wiggling. His raw pink, clammy hand makes an appearance on your inner thigh while a nutty suntan creeps out his lapel. There is a high possiblity his hair stylist dabbles in snake charming. Or just reckless abandon. Just...nothingness. Just peeling out, firm, bulging into a big time loss at the gambling ring. His lips curl into a hangmans noose and the gallows within him creak with the weight of your soul. He is an executioner of sorts, if you call swinging out over a series of pointless life lessons an execution. His executive branch sways in the wind, breaks, and the state bird falls from it's branch. The governor's heart has failed. Thanks be to the slightly deranged hipster swaying with his affluent knowledge; the closed circuit television glowing within his love life switched off a long time ago. He's punching a time card in darkness like a toll booth murder left unsolved. As you are slowly stitched to his heart, a hangover descends upon you like a black cloud. There was, at some point, no need for a stylish deceit; this time has passed.