Friday, February 16, 2018

Bus Stop

Zdzisław Beksiński

Amphyll stands in the lee of the dune, not quite deep enough to shield him completely from the sand-wind that hisses against this visor adding microscopic scratches to the already microscopically scratched surface; scratches that will become more apparent with age.
The Carbon Absorption Towers that litter the city’s boundary glow and crackle as their Capacathodes gather negative energy in quantities sufficient to satisfy municipal needs.
Amphyll vapes the hashish he bought just an hour ago from the factory on Via Orologi, and he is gently entwined in the perfume; the taste of its mystery, green and ancient.
In three days they will know whether the seed has taken root; the Moebius Timer will kick the packet into the face of Admin’s security, (the coding of which was written by The CoOp itself) and all kinds of fluctuations will be inflicted on the norm.
Amphyll wonders if they will find it this time.
His peace is shattered by the roar of the Leviptron’s sub-atomic maw.
He takes a footpad and is whished up into the body of the vehicle, passengers eying him suspiciously; as passengers do.
The info-holo hangs “Gate 339 - Next Stop: Pharma’s Market”


Tales for an attention deficit world

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