Friday, 19 June 2009


Photo by Neil Krug.

You can see her driving her patched up car on the highway, broken, rusty; it has been thru many nights without sleep and many days under a too hot sun.
Some occasional sex, trying to save what’s left of her soul without succeeding. You name it.
She’s not running away from anything.
She’s running after someone with the concentration that only pain can give.
The dense, dark, deep and heavy sound of Roadkill by Singapore Sling with the electrifying guitar running wild at the very first note of the song gives us that, and so much more.
A crime, about to be committed, premeditated; one that will be enjoyed and it’ll taste like victory.
A victory she has been waiting for far too long.
She’s waiting, outside some dirty old whore house in the middle of nowhere, patiently, lighting the last cigarette of the day, or so she says.
It has hints of western mixed with some justice, and a little of pure insanity.
There’s no fear in the song, there’s no fear in the photo, but there’s certainly a heart broken, some maddening rage, an aching mind and a poor bastard that will pay for it.
Gets out of the car, and with a decided walk she reaches for the door, a chilly mist of smoke and disgusting smell comes up on her face, she doesn’t care, the sense of smell has been long lost, there’s only thirst now.
As if guessing what will come to pass, the junkie employee working there moves from her way as she opens every single one of the one floor whore house doors. The last one has to be it; of course it had to be the last she thinks.
One simple, even soundless shot in the head.
She walks away thinking about the combination of red and white sheets.

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