Imagine yourself gliding down a clean well lit alley headed to a reading of the Koran.
A dark, dirty drifter of some sort stops you and inquires where on God’s gray earth he can find some color. Close up on his eyes. They happen to be beautiful. Not pretty but beautiful. The allure that can only come from the natural world you live in. Keep in mind your still floating at least 7.4 inches above the concrete carpet that lay waste to domestic flowers. You try and name it but it’s the unnamable thing. All you can breathe is the word color.
Then the dragon tear hits you and you awake from the dream to find out that nothing changed. The bum happens to have died from what seems to be multiple gun shot wounds to the soul. Another man comes floating on through, behind him yet another. Afros and dreadlocks are all you remember of their appearance because it was the words, movements and colors that hit you the hardest. Dreadlocks hit you hard with the Red, Black, and Green along with everything that corporate puppet wanted. Afro spit hot fire filled with wisdom and Dark Continent Kung-Fu, then he tied it all together with a funky bass line.
They said, “Foreigner.”
You said, “Sax solo.”
You gave them your eighty-eight's and realized why you came down that alley in the first place. Koran. Reading. Foreign Policy. Robots have no religion but if they did they’d be robotstafarians and sport droidlocks.