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When we got back from the cop spot, I let her in the gates of the big dark empty house.
I got back on the bike and split to go home for a while.
She told me to come back for her in a couple of hours, assuring me that after this next run, she’d come home with me to crash.
I didn’t really believe her, even though she’d already been up for four days now.
But I told her I’d come back in awhile to look in on her. Whatever.
It was 4 in the morning by now, and the streets were quiet as a tomb. It had been another hot, sunny day, and all the sheeple had worn their little sheeple hearts out to exhaustion with the beach and the beer and the barbecues and football and family, and… Now there
wasn’t so much as a stray bum stirring in the shadows as I made my way
home.
There it is again! The good old herd mind.
It was a depressing sight. Another shitty night in Rio. Now it was late. Graveyard late. Cold. Dark. Empty. Dead.
I parked the bike in front of the door of my building. Even the doorman was comatose and took his sweet time to let me in.
What is it with these fucking people? Cloned-out computer programs, just like those suit and tie guys in the Matrix movies!
Shit.
When one sleeps, they all gotta sleep!

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.
NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.