Photo by: ArtStation – Man of Chrome, Bjarke Pedersen

This story is a continuation FROM, which starts HERE…

May 2, 2019

Often art will grab you, and with that very same breath a thought packaged with creativity utters inspiration. Make each word your art, and let the people know this is where creativity sparks. We are free in the works of words which undo us. Lights across a city’s skyline are the first of many men who have betrayed us.

Care to meet one?

Pulling Yanaka’s SpaceHead over my noggin came with funk—Boris had just pulled it off his melting head of foreign hair. Wearing the helmet of boom to serve a new field, it’s apeshit season all over. I was rover last I wore headgear this snug. The virtual view was proof time and technology at its quintessential phases can take us anywhere.

The deal was that I refer investors to his firm; by then I knew he was only a partner. Beautiful liars love you until you catch them, but my gut told me to watch, let him be thyself and allow the build of my wealth. As payback, he’d assume the Billy Ocean of the deal.

I recall the roommate making it clear where his firm was funded from. His parents’ will left him millions, and he still chose law school. Approbation, a bourgeoisie thing?

Anyways, I said yes to the project once the esoteric meaning was in play for my motivation. A forever fuck you to America, because what middle-class born Avantian would have the audacity to architect such a monstrosity? The little boy in me screamed, “pick me!”

From ground zero the signature signing began in my head. Two weeks away from the retainer, a village negro was about to get paid…

-Budd

Continued here…