Coffee and Sugar excerpt (towards an end)

There was a young man sitting by the foot of a women’s boutique with his greasy hand outstretched begging for loose change and the open wound on his right led pulsed as if it were a thing itself with its own heart beat and emotional complications. There was a sign leaning against his infected foot that was smeared with the filth from his hands and under his fingernails and it was impossible to read the extent of his plight so instead the young man; who, under a thick scruffy beard and a scabbed and blistered complexion looked every bit an old man, drew attention to the horrible looking untreated wound on his leg that may have started out as a mosquito bite a year ago but with careful inconsideration in the past however many necessary days, months and years, had become an eyesore that infected the decent passing of wandering attention, having hands reach briskly for jingling and coined empathy in disgusted appreciation for the will of god should one stray from their benevolent path or; for the new age non-believers and systematically clustered non-conformists, the rallied test of their wreckful verdure guised as that ever lingering moralising bitch called Karma, she whose name is spoken of only vehemently and because of whom, good will is only attended to out of boding fear of her just retribution for moral dissent; she, as present, giving and apparent in good tidings as is genuine sensitivity and gentle consideration in a father’s ascetic advice.

- Coffee and Sugar excerpt (in flight to an ending) ₢2013

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