Perfect. Plane.

We live in a metered society, Not part time paid parking poles implying a particular price you pony up to pretend pedant. 

A part of a predetermined populous center for which you wouldn’t give a damn for if the patriots, bruins or Celtics didn’t play there.

A 17 story building pervaded wall to wall like a Reno brothel filled with hoes.

A 60 block square area you can’t afford to live in and every day stare at millennium towers telling yourself “someday”

Crated cattle craving champagne 

Cratering our contempt but content In our own cull. 

And we all know.
We know it’s all a lie but live and go along enjoying the thrill.
And we love to tell others money doesn’t matter when you’re never going to raise a family or even yourself on last nights garbage.
We love misnomer and mistruth when it doesn’t apply to a person personally.
We love to be “the bigger man” but words are the fallacy of humanity and we’re all just here falsifying our existence to each other. 
I’m done beating my own drum and predicting permanently pending pleasantries

Praying to be positioned peacefully on a perfectly plane plateau 

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