AFTERMATH

jesus, mother, it was terrible: some son of a bitch had ripped the ATMs clean off the wall at the Arts Center MARTA station! their usual recesses: emptied out like protest art. it was 12:40 the previous Saturday when I saw the banal machines exposed: some butcher had gutted them! and as I watched their vault doors flap open I thought about how leaves lift with the wind and birds against and how lonely it is to be an animal: such dreary thoughts on Saturday afternoon. it was my lunch hour, so I went for a smartwater and a Smartfood popcorn, then off to Midtown, Chase Bank office, happy at the sight of the ATMs still there but no teller stations, and I got to thinking, how does one go about robbing this place, there’s no money at all! money,

my money is make-believe after all, numbers popping on my phone screen when I tap it! so much for artificial intelligence… my commodities smarten up then they become the boss of me! but how lonely is it also to be a machine: they leave you gaping and so… naked for everybody to see— and I did not speak out! I walked away shivering in severe mental distress: can a man be afraid? no matter, I’m getting paid again in 10 days, I’ll have my smartphone lead me to a SmartMart, read an e-book, smoke an e-cigarette, thinking I am in the world but not of it… and then I’ll say I did not go to work today and I was not missed. the machines were running 

and I 

wrote 

this.