The jukebox wailed through the nighttime outside Mikal's Package. I sat under the awning with Clive, who was all how-you-doings and back slapping. I've been rumbling in idle all night. It's not that there's nothing to do, there's just nothing to do quick. The waves of the future are covering this acrid and gauss covered town. Religious feeling numbs men's toes and tips of their fingers. The clouds collapse like two oncoming trains. Old neptune is dragging us down with him and all I can do is wait for my quarter malted milk.