Destitute, shambling and hopeless, this town is collapsing, falling into itself and aspirating in the vomit of too many washed-out barflies and bygone bike weeks. The worst part is that it’s taking us all with it in its final death rattle. Or is that the best part? Maybe we deserve to be scrubbed clean and excoriated from the scabrous remains of this little phallic-shaped swamp state. No one is innocent, and there are no civilians. Just competing diseases trying to propagate inside of a dying, bloated carcass.
The only thing left is the scum that still ebbs and flows through the veins of this city pouring into the alleys and vacant lots, spilling into abandoned buildings, encrusting over this place like a monstrous, oozing scab, ready to be picked loose to expose so much grit and grime beneath it.
This place is filth
This place is rot
This place is sorrow and human failure.
This place is home.
Towers of Rust 