Mescalime

Damn autumn – and us in a city summer never really visited, where the cold starts whipping in like the ruler of your mom’s old grammar teacher. We sat in a bar looking for ourselves, staring at our equally lost fellow citizens, every one of us feeling the weight of a working season coming after a summer of watermelons and evenings too short to dig down to the last drop. Obviously something had to be done.

I don’t know where he got it from, but the redhead found a black Chevy C-10 longbed like out of some backwater in the States where they build rifles into the bodywork and beat their wives after getting smashed on some cheap swill. All we had left was to break through past piles of all that Japanese and European shit and make up for lost time with a hundred grams of green, Mexican acid and I came up with this great, great plan for us to raise a kaleidoscope of pure sensation, jamming straight into all our receptors, and the city would finally give off having at all the Raskonikovs with axes, or something worseб , so get off your workday ass and get over the swollen comforts of an overfed culture – we’re revving the engines and’re ready to pour at 140 miles an hour, crushing over any bloodthirsty lizard trying to eat us whole along with all the soapy trends of yesteryear, all because we got ourselves here some MESCALIME!

What we got here’s a real lime ether the colour of a forsaken desert sun, one that’d burn your eyes right out of your sockets. We sniff at it a bit and the Show Less