The Heavily Abridged Life & Times

mills:

Everyone in the city has been torn apart. I gingerly step around torsos dragging their viscera along the sidewalks. The women in the financial district, in blouses more beautiful than the finest fabrics available to queens a century ago, look like jellyfish: stringy red and black tendrils of intestine slither after colorful caps. They move at half the speed of the men in their midst, for each holds a purse of inventive form with one hand while the other, manicured, straining, pulls her along. They pool at corners, waiting for lights to change. I see one, exasperated, attempting to hail a cab, but she is too low to the ground, and besides: there is no traffic.

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