Homeless, the art installation won first prize. John Wentworth had planned to ruin the artist Kitty More. She used his idea. The one he told her about during their snakebite drinking days. The ones when they both woke up with hangovers worthy of bad poetry, the agony of headaches.
John posted intimate, embarassing photos of her. Lovers amateur sex tapes. Recorded snores and farts. Millions of hits. She retreated from the public eye, she always had low self esteem.
But he never thought she was the suicidal type.
All this chicken wants is a hamburger. Nothing fancy, just meat and cheese. Maybe lettuce and tomato. That's it. Really, I don't think that's much to ask for. Is it?
Here's the problem. The road won't let me do it. The cows are relatively fine with it. Not happy, but they've at least come to understand that I'm going to eat them.
The road, on the other hand, is not happy at all. You see, the road has it in it's head that its reason for existence is to protect the cows. The cows can't see the danger and incowity...
The Moon would never be the same again. No more bands, no more over priced beer. No more after prom parties.
But that really isn't any concern of mine. I always hated the place. It was where the worst times of my life went down.
The one that stuck in my mind the most happened because of a girl named Erin. I'd just moved to town and for some reason she caught my eye. I spent a while trying to get her to go out with me, but I couldn't ever get anywhere with it.
Then one day I got...