Member-only story
Midnight Hammer! — The Movie
A bunker busting dive into celluloid sleaze — Collapsistan #12
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Author’s note: Consider this a non-poetic thought bubble inserted into the regular Collapsistan narrative, which will resume momentarily.
As I stood there in the heart of Hell-A, stinging tear gas smoking away, rubber bullets bouncing like ping pong balls hither and yon, I saw the armored vehicle of the dreaded NICE* agents rumbling down the street, rounding up Collapsistanian refugees for swift deportation.
(*Not Inviting Collapsistan Ethnicity)
I spun around to notice the first of these victims standing quietly on the sidewalk. This was a former B-list Collapsistanian “actor” who had now hit the big time in Hollywood. He wasn’t protesting at all, just out taking his Pomeranian for a walk over the shattered glass of Molotov cocktails and storefront windows.
A normal enough thing to do on a Sunday afternoon, here in the heart of Hell-A.
I immediately recognized him, and in a flash my mind traveled back to where we first met.
Having burned through the financial windfall I earned as poet laureate of Collapsistan, through a contemptible, self-loathing process…
