caught the grizzly scene, down on its knees. a dark cop in the corner, writing everything down like prescriptions a junkie is forcing with a gun to his head. we were weaving in and out of traffic and minds when the barriers hit the brakes for a second, and that was sobering enough. we kicked it down to third gear and the radio waves became a name. for a second, we existed only as guesses.
the coroner report will come back eventually, and there we will place all blame on discrepancies. while burying our heads, we discovered our feet and only kept the left one around for sake of symmetry.
now go tell the press and demand them to redact all contents of their articles that had an impact