KULT - The price of freedom
If anyone injures his neighbor, as he has done it shall be done to him, fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth.
The city of New York is like a greasy concrete cockroach sprawling over the land which was bought for beads and blood in America’s dawn. Its legs are long, rusting piers that stretch out to capture the sea; covering it with a thick layer of oil, dirt and discarded plastic. The city’s grotesque features are hidden behind a constant blanket of yellow smog that extends from the creeping houses in the Bronx to Manhattans splayed fingers; eternal shapes of steel and glass. The streets form gutters where people flow down towards the sea or, like lungfishes, crawl up on the land that was stolen from the redskins. In the narrow alleys and withering houses you can hear the cry from thousands of people every day; the firmament trembling from their cacophony. Each cry comes from a sore throat in protest against a new injustice against its owners: a new murder, robbery or rape. A trained ear can, with frightening precision, hear the difference in sound and tone between the different types of cries. One for murder, another for battery and a third for extortion. But there are few who have that talent and even fewer who want it._
New York is a rotting piece of shit that the rich and powerful have tried to gild for years. But the façade is crumbling; every day and every night.