Odd Nugget the pits

Two months, three weeks and infinite miles of bubbling pavement…

Everywhere Poe went, he saw the same molten suburbia and everyone he approached said the same thing…

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“This place is the pits,” a dry, heaving old man uttered behind a thousand-yard stare.

Poe begged to differ…

“Why, this place isn’t so bad,” he answered defiantly, stretching a crusty, desiccated smile across his countenance.

Still smirking, he approached the silvery polish of a mirrored window and froze.

His battered, leathery skin hung loose in tattered ribbons. His eyes were sunken wells of despair, black as pitch. At his feet a corpse. In his hand a gun. In the distance infinity. In all directions…

The pits.

the pits

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