NOW I GOT THE BROKE
I left the hammer with the chisel and the
driver. The rest of the crazy tools were
just floating about the workbench; all
uncontrolled running wild. It was as if
a million letters from some broken
dictionary had left a mind filled with
sentences and broken themselves apart
and just ran. Dead Russian guys everywhere,
like bloodstains on a Kremlin carpet, but
outside instead, with all those consonants
and those funny Cyrillic markings. If I was
right now writing code for Boris Berezovsky
to see, they'd figure I was up to something,
some no-good revolutionary. Yeah, and
they'd be right as revolution too.
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