Adam's Garden

often in the roads we travel and the dungeons we hold closely to the faces of our friends and actual victims we chase down roads not lost to the locals, we forget so quietly that we all hate the world and the hatred we have towards the occupational hazards of nostalgia and contempt bake our minds in the warm glow of escapism.  those providing the escape laugh loudly and obscenely, often endearingly, and often under harsh glare of the scrutinizing and yes, hateful, masses.