#TG4DRMX: II-DUO — “HUMAN.JPEG”

Time dissolved oleaginously in cigarettes and $3 libations. Flatbush femmes sauntered in serious hips, contemplating apocalypse with four dollars and three burnouts. The problem with real-life was that it wasn’t fiction. You couldn’t cut out selected pieces, or mask the mundane behind a cohesive storyline. No one stayed in character, every living being suffered from plot holes. And the sad part was, nothing really meant anything.

It was another one of those nights. Another New York working-class joint straight out of a Johnathon Franzen novel. Another victim, another cathartic kill. Yasiin wore a charcoal Brioni three-button suit. It was one of his most expensive suits and felt like calfskin on his body. Underneath he wore an eggshell Egyptian cotton shirt, by Donna Karan, white gold cufflinks shaped like hammers from Tiffany’s. And the tie was Hermes, although he wanted to switch it the instant he was out of here because someone else had a tie that matched its tone, and it looked so much better it was mortifying. His compulsions grew fat as the week went by. The past few days were a blur of oxy pills, mergers, faux wedding plans, chronic masturbation and mutilated corpses of coal-burners with their skin cut off in micros, nonlethal strips and fed to them by hand — it was times like these he was grateful he had a basement, it created atmosphere. The walls were covered with heroin…