If we choose the sun,
Then the mystery of night
Is forever lost...
Walking along neon-bright pathways, flickering ugliness abounds.
I simply cannot abide where common baseness pollutes the soul.
I am becoming the enemy of the Garish...a tribe wallowing in the gutter of their own self-absorbed consumption. The Garish...who believe the anonymity of the digital world excuses any excess, and offers release for any depravity. They claim the night is theirs, yet they drag the sun along with them.
What are they really afraid of? After all...the worst they could encounter in the night is themselves, right?
Or me.
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