Thick tiredness grows on the people that turn the lights out late, and the morning Judies that stalk Starbucks at 4:00 a.m…just before they open. Chapped businessmen and women grow moans from outside while emerald-aproned soldiers ready their arms. Depressed merchants sell worn blankets and moon rocks for the first time over by the corner of Mocha Street. Martians walk in circles, contemplating the idea of a life where being a swinger is a more common tradition. The heroes and revolutionaries live under copses. When the shade coldens, an unfelt warmth takes them to the streets so they can fulfill their duties and think about theories of creation and their own. At the library, a messiah reads The God Delusion and considers taking a half-hour nap to see the sunset at approximately fifteen after 6:00 p.m., again. She questions the world of atoms and how time reflects the purpose of everything, including sleepless bodies and fate. She is not able to connect deeply with herself without seeing the stars. It is still around 6:00 p.m. A smaller book replaces Dawkins’s spot on the shelf. The savior rushes out again for the fourth day in a row, a big book tucked underneath her robes.
Daniel was born a writer in Long Beach. He occasionally attends a Writers of the Dark Side Club, which he invented and is the lone participator. From there, he learns to surpass his techniques.