It was that august we found ourselves a litle ways south of Little Rock. We attended a shot gun wedding. Little stone church on a hill. The bride, dressed appropriatly in white, franticly clutched her synthetic bouquet. The groom took her shaky hand, sweat seeping through the poliester at his underarms. It hard to be in love with a rifle pressed to your lower back. He glanced around in a frenzy, His mother's excessive eye-makeup rolled down her cheeks. His older brother stood in the back row. The idiot child, hammer in hand. Somewhere not too far away a rooster crowed. I took the opportunity to lean over and bite his earlobe. We knew we were going to hell.


i dunno, i wasnt really thinking when i wrote that...i know it sucks.