The strike is starting! Everyone likes sunsets. The strike is starting! Turn your radios up. The strike is starting! Shut up, you belligerent fool, no one striking nothing but we all meeting in the streets, we trying to be on the radio, and we̶̶ ̶ The strike is starting! A cold silence follows. Now the solitary voice understands it’s past time—he shuts the fuck up. The stri—ate white man is stepping to the podium. And we on the radio! [Clear clear throat]—and gentlemen I am pleased to announce that there will be no formal uh now I thank you, you may go. To the left, to the left, to the left hand-over-your-wallet’s time to get building, up up and away, signs up, WE WON’T GO! signs ̶ upper level here! Get your tickets, half price! You got floor seats? I need to get close enough to—Shoot! that’s what binoculars are for, just look up at the Teevee, aim the remote and zigga-zigga-zigga-zigga, there it is again, and again, and again if you’d like, or, zuuud-zuuud-zuuud and we just skipped a fucking year, and here we are still living the dream, speech…one day…Strike! Flame, throw in the paper, burn, throw it in the pile of broken promises written by kids with degrees in speech writing, they’ll get opportunities in delegation later, these words sound familiar you you you, this this this, and while you’re all busy, I’m just gonna step right back into my own little…WHAM!!! You just lost your health insurance. WHAM! Right in your U- tur, us ah! We demand a recount! Don’t you understand you are wasting your time, there is no more paper, we burned all we had, and LOOK! The flame has reached those houses over there! LOOK! They are fleeing from their homes, but where will they go?! It’s a starting over point, a clean slate. But we are trying to clear these streets of people, remember? huh? We are trying to sweep these stree—eight men in uniform step out—whoa whoa whoa man, woman, hold it-right there, yeah right there where I can see them, right there where I can—Strike! Boom! Where’d she go? I don’t think it is for you to know! shouts a voice from the front of the crowd. Flames start creeping up the center of the road riding on the built up oil not even a week’s worth of rain could wash away, embedded in between the cracks; the reflectors start to melt and crackle and it quickly becomes difficult to say which way is right and which is left. A massive march of charred bodies make their way up the street, gurgling up words and spewing them out “PR0—TEST!” or g0 jets, 0r fuck him 0r s0mething or all 0f the ab0ve. The police are all more and more baffled as to why they all chose to stand in a line with wooden sticks when a fire is raging toward them. One cop grabs a can of tear gas from his belt, and with his baton—STRIKE! Knocks the top off and takes a huff, I’m out of here he says. He falls to the ground, and the line shatters, Voila! Here’s a clear path to freedom dumb-dumb, it can’t be this easy, it never was, and it never will be. You call that easy? Naw, but gotta call em as I see em, you got a light?