Three people getting thrashed for stealing things worth twenty or thirty bucks
in a transcendent sunset.
No curves on their faces no fallacy in their closed fists…
Three beautiful swans was rammed with fascist Idiocracy.
All they needed was a chance…all people need a chance…
People going at war, people butchered in a war…
all of them only need a mere chance.
I am still holding on to them…
I still want to believe that after all people aren’t very good at being bad…
I know these three boys have known the smell of death too well and still they are marvelous enough to breathe under the hard shoes.
How do you define the inspiration of a person who castrate uninspired dicks in broad daylight and sleeps in between their partners and their daughters in rioting nights?

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Photograph: Zach Gold.