The Rapture works the body of the mammal hat.

Hide under a slow squeeze or inside the exposed spleen of your own recycled history, but consider making time with your most theatrical diner because it's the safest place on earth and most things will begin and end here. Don't you want a thing or two to begin and then end? Aren't you tired of your own pale tongue?

Eat the crispy fries, drink the ranch, and give yourself the callus of Our dreams. You'll need it when your own goodwill ends.


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Slipping into a game of batteries and waiting for the pinch isn't the same rush as it was that one perfect weekend. Open your crispy mouth and speak in the recycled tongues of your history. Try to mean it. Light a cigarette and throw it at the spire-speak of Professional Camping. Walk it off. Let your tongue become a potato chip of what it once was.

When you hear the faint kettle-whistle, don't look up. You mustn't look up. Pretend the whistle is coming from your soft own chip. It might. It might as well. When the whistle stops, you'll be the same but the air will smell like Our favorite detergent.
We love that smell.