Adam Quirk

formation...

3 notes

To:City Planning Board
Subject:Scenarios For The Proposed Walking Path Between Kroger and The Drainage Ditch: A Visioneering Exercise
It’s the coldest day of pre-autumn, and a mist has suppressed the town for days. The sun has been obliterated by blankets of dreary grey, and the squirrels have all but given up on life. They lay on their backs with their mouths open, incisors glistening with a mix of saliva and the mist. Occasionally one will roll over onto its side and sneeze. There are plenty of acorns to be gathered…but this weather. It’s just too much.
The drought this Summer burned plants to their husks. Now the brown, yellow, and dark brown weeds and bushes have begun to disintegrate as their dead leaves are weighed with cold water. The land is flat and brown and looks like moldy mushroom soup.
Look, there is a homeless man in a Colorado Rockies baseball jersey and boxer shorts. Into the puddle he goes, never to return. They live in there, you know.
How many piercings is too many for the smoking teens?
Outside the Kroger, the path begins to regain its original color. The rest of it has been painted with Krylon, decorated with chalk, and stained with blood. But the general manager at Kroger has organized a weekly cleanup effort for the sixty yards of Walking Path to the west of his parking lot. A group of neighbors joined him the first couple times, but have since retreated behind their living room windows. There have been real threats etched with chalk in the flowery handwriting of the fourth grade girls. They appear and disappear on their pink razor scooters at unreasonably late hours for school days.
Continuing the path southward across the abandoned oil depot’s gravel lot, we notice the Heroin Pigs have accosted an elderly woman riding back from the grocery on her mobility scooter. Their faces are scarred from rat claws, and their backs are raw from sleeping in a forest of chains and poles in the underground level of the oil depot. The woman shakes free from their clammy hands and attempts a getaway, but her scooter’s back wheels spin in the muddy gravel soup. They lift her off, and take her inside the depot, leaving the scooter and her groceries outside to rust and decay in the mist.
Past the depot, a wide field extends to the east of the path. A switchyard once bustled here. Now we find a rancid, poisonous wasteland of mutant grasses that only grow in arsenic. 
As we continue our leisurely stroll towards the drainage ditch, we consider the disgusting nature of humanity at its most basic and atavistic. We wonder why anyone would choose this life. We pass the second mile marker, designated by a bright green sticker on an empty can of baby formula suspended from a stick in the mud.
Finally we arrive at the drainage ditch, and notice all the human waste.  Our feet are tired from walking just a couple miles, as the lot of us have never moved more than a hundred feet at a time. We take off our shoes and socks, and toss them in the shit-covered water below. We have decided not to return to our homes.
The city has created an exciting experience for its pedestrian citizens. The tax dollars and labor that built this path were as well-spent as any other. There is a soup party later tonight at the convention center to celebrate.

To:
City Planning Board

Subject:
Scenarios For The Proposed Walking Path Between Kroger and The Drainage Ditch: A Visioneering Exercise

It’s the coldest day of pre-autumn, and a mist has suppressed the town for days. The sun has been obliterated by blankets of dreary grey, and the squirrels have all but given up on life. They lay on their backs with their mouths open, incisors glistening with a mix of saliva and the mist. Occasionally one will roll over onto its side and sneeze. There are plenty of acorns to be gathered…but this weather. It’s just too much.

The drought this Summer burned plants to their husks. Now the brown, yellow, and dark brown weeds and bushes have begun to disintegrate as their dead leaves are weighed with cold water. The land is flat and brown and looks like moldy mushroom soup.

Look, there is a homeless man in a Colorado Rockies baseball jersey and boxer shorts. Into the puddle he goes, never to return. They live in there, you know.

How many piercings is too many for the smoking teens?

Outside the Kroger, the path begins to regain its original color. The rest of it has been painted with Krylon, decorated with chalk, and stained with blood. But the general manager at Kroger has organized a weekly cleanup effort for the sixty yards of Walking Path to the west of his parking lot. A group of neighbors joined him the first couple times, but have since retreated behind their living room windows. There have been real threats etched with chalk in the flowery handwriting of the fourth grade girls. They appear and disappear on their pink razor scooters at unreasonably late hours for school days.

Continuing the path southward across the abandoned oil depot’s gravel lot, we notice the Heroin Pigs have accosted an elderly woman riding back from the grocery on her mobility scooter. Their faces are scarred from rat claws, and their backs are raw from sleeping in a forest of chains and poles in the underground level of the oil depot. The woman shakes free from their clammy hands and attempts a getaway, but her scooter’s back wheels spin in the muddy gravel soup. They lift her off, and take her inside the depot, leaving the scooter and her groceries outside to rust and decay in the mist.

Past the depot, a wide field extends to the east of the path. A switchyard once bustled here. Now we find a rancid, poisonous wasteland of mutant grasses that only grow in arsenic. 

As we continue our leisurely stroll towards the drainage ditch, we consider the disgusting nature of humanity at its most basic and atavistic. We wonder why anyone would choose this life. We pass the second mile marker, designated by a bright green sticker on an empty can of baby formula suspended from a stick in the mud.

Finally we arrive at the drainage ditch, and notice all the human waste.  Our feet are tired from walking just a couple miles, as the lot of us have never moved more than a hundred feet at a time. We take off our shoes and socks, and toss them in the shit-covered water below. We have decided not to return to our homes.

The city has created an exciting experience for its pedestrian citizens. The tax dollars and labor that built this path were as well-spent as any other. There is a soup party later tonight at the convention center to celebrate.

Filed under essays writing stories

  1. wreckandsalvage reblogged this from adamquirk and added:
    I wrote some things yesterday.
  2. adamquirk posted this

Public Domain Mark
This work (Bullemhead blog, by Adam Quirk), identified by Adam Quirk, is free of known copyright restrictions.