*AIRHORN INTENSIFIES*

Somewhere in the PRIME-porium

(a stupid name, if we’ve ever heard of one.)

Anna Daniels props her feet on the table…and says nothing. There is only a look she gives to the people that pass by, as if keeping track of who buys and who doesn’t. Someone in there knows that results would equal more sales and more sales mean a movement and you’re thinking it’s so silly, right? But if you watch, actually watch, everything is silly. All is nonsense, especially in this ‘verse. Thus none of this has to have thought and meaning at all. As a matter of fact, who is taping this shit?

Probably nobody.

Truth is there’s nobody here. There isn’t even a here. This place doesn’t even exist. Everything is a myth. Words on top of words made into wax bodies and literature souls.

And yet, even still, she sits.

She watches.

And she’s looking at you.

Buy the shirt, cowards.