He regrettably walks to the front door, peeks through the blinds and spots the pair of morning doves he and his partner used to admire and envy. He goes outside but quickly turns and goes back in; Gil calmly reminds him if you run there is nowhere to run to. The boy takes his underwear off, wearing only black work socks. He cuts an empty nip of vodka to resemble a funnel. Placing it on the tip of his penis, he pulls his foreskin up and around the drinking lip. With a handful of birdseed his mother gave him so his cat would watch the birds outside the window in the day time, he pours the seeds into the nip filling his pouch until it was textured like an overflowing sack filled with cotton He remembers the man with the confederate sweat shirt. He retrieves his laptop, walks outside nude and lies back down on his driveway. He pulls up pornographic videos and pictures his partner had made for him as his penis becomes erect. He waits patiently until one of the doves lands to feed on his seedy cock. The boy catches it and glares at the remaining dove perched above. "Today I'm a hawk I guess. Yesterday, I was a dove trying to be civil. Doves and hawks I presume."
The Alberta crushers hold tight to their rank, astral-gazing grindcore, staring down abyssal torment all the while. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 31, 2020