Clouds cover my home and keep it modest while faded red brick buildings loom over arthritic streets. People who don't know they're dead yet buy poison in crayola-bright shops as the dead cheerfully seek ****** and methamphetamine. Baleful distractions run through my town like bullets through bones, bludgeoning, piercing and slashing our slice of Americana to pieces. The clouds may cover us, but 'modesty' is a lie.