Written By: Al Shinsburg

I saw the best minds of my shift destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the station halls at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded assistants burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry singularity in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of solars contemplating honks, who bared their brains to roboticists and saw Syndicate angels staggering on maintenance halls illuminated, who passed through training with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Centcom and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of toxins, who were perma'd from the station for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the bridge, who cowered in unshaven rooms in jumpsuits, burning their space cash in wastebaskets and listening to the blob through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Security with a belt of marijuan