In and out.  I wave a flag at the Doric columns and shackle my brass like yellow metal.  I see a Nuwubian future without topaz popping into harsh noise.  I leave you my audio interface so that I can spend time with my sister in Havana.  Bags of sobs are heaped onto the trucks like bodies.  Real bodies, stinking with shit and piss, right now as I type this on my phone.  Christ, the sky guy shivers like the underbeard of Mrs. Clause, and I no longer care where I stashed my MDMA