Propaganda Cow

Holy Cow 

In the midst of haunted hallways and abandon homes, lives the bastard. He is Phoenix's finest most unconventional magician, juggling hobbies, skate tricks, and huffing paint. 

I meet him on the outskirts of shea, covered head to toe in dirt. He was spraypainting a dog on the side of my junkyard honda. Hat placed always facing west. He didn't speak in mumbles but rather screams of currents, echoing off the walls from the gutter in which he called home. playing the song that turned me mad. (objectively speaking I was always considered mad, or a clock missing a few gears, but I like to consider myself more of a light switch. giving myself time and places).

He told me about his business. It was the type of business you'd whisper or change the topic around the police or women in Christian atter.

 He sold carrying pigeons to men on the light rail, each of the ankles of the government official birds held tiny flyers promoting "holy cow!" a short film created by Aiden Shabkie and his gang of misrepresented street dogs. Ripping up property and making make-shift rails. It was a dangerous business, that could get him and his mates locked up on the farm, milking cows and throwing eggs for the rest of their days. But they didn't care, or at least Alex didn't. He was used to the life of crime. 

He found hope in it.

 After I went mad, they must have gone west, tracking the chemtrails in search of more junkyard hondas and abandoned swimming pools. I can't tell you when they will come back or what new propaganda poster will be floating around the telephone lines. just that they will... and it will be more destructive than the first time. 

-katbird02