Bleeding HandsYou watch him. His parents swept the concrete clean about a half hour ago, everyone's left except for you. The party hats are in the bin, so're the left over party pies, you're waiting for a ride. You watch him. What you notice is his hands, nails bitten into waxen lumps, creases like deep folds in a heavy cloth. He's got them sitting in his lap. And he's lookin' at them. Starin' at them, even. Shakin' a little. His hair is ruffed from all the people wishin' him a happy birthday. His shoulders hunched over from years of kickin' the dust. You feel sBleeding Hands
Sweep
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Here it is, your moment of Zen.
'Tis good, by the way (the things I havent seen yet.)
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"don't regret doing things, regret getting caught"
[link] <-- cns stencil forum
maybe you and i can become 'stock artists'. we'll make it cool.
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