The night is cool, a sharp contrast from the humid heat that the day had been. He stands at an intersection, waiting. A broken beer bottle catches his eye, glinting in the glow of the streetlights. Its pieces are scattered, its original shape nothing but a transparent memory told by the label that still holds some few shards in its embrace. He pauses, reflecting on this piece of litter, and its symbolism, before pushing the thought out of his mind and kicking the fragments away, leaving no sign of their prior existence except a light scratch on a rubber shoe sole. Still he waits, and still that scratch stays.

Tunes: "Nobody Likes You When You're Dead," Zombina and the Skeletones; "Baby, I'm An Anarchist," Against Me!.