Big walk, fast walk, voice, voice, voice.
Wailing from the soul. Hurry.
Hurry up and wait. Vote twice. You double time a freaky Tuesday, silently, for the jump-out.
I get up and go out to crip-walk, to cobble and hobble. It's a metal detector and a name tag, and a bum-chaser running out of space to run to; abscond.
Quick walk. Fast talk. Stoop down. Stand up.
The man on the bike begins yelling, "Bar-ock--O bammma. I am NOT... I am NOT afraid to die."
I try to ignore him as the police officer appears frightened.
I have to much on my mind to worry about this guy.
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