The Complex Cajun
Staring at the stars, aware he was probably a cliche. He couldn't help it; they looked so amazing. There could be anything out there, and there probably is. Listening to us with their Zalgcif Rays through Unbearesalt Portholes.
He bit into his day-0ld po-boy under attack by a fly looking for a fix. The flakes of bread crunched between his teeth, followed by a tasty bite of lettuce and shrimp. He burped and took another sip of his Abita. He hit the bowl again and set the po-boy aside, picking up his acoustic.
"Pick me up, I can't be here anymore. Palin lovers, beaded whores."