Shell Punks

Now what?
I don't know.


I called the movie.
No answer.
I texted the movie.
No response.
I left messages with the movie in both formats.


I continued east on Colfax Avenue.
It's the longest street in the country.
25 miles.
Most of it sucks.
It's a lot of small cock guidomobiles riding each other's asses and cackling while texting while driving.
I hit downtown Denver and its lovely gridlock.
I had considered hanging out in The Mile High City.
It looked stupid.
No thanks.


I tried to get my bearings at a Shell.
While parked, a 12 year old kid came up to my window.
"Can I have a dollar?"
A dollar?  What?  Who are you?
"Sorry," I said.
The kid was fucking shocked.
"Oh c'mon.  We need to get home!"
What's with all these shitty kids that need to get home?
Stay a runaway.
Nobody loves you.
"I'm sorry, man."
He gave me an evil look and huddled with his pals.
They looked in my direction.
I got out of there quickly.
Chased away by a trio of junior high twerps.
Hey man.
Columbine was from here.
Remember the Alamo.