The turning point.

Seattle in a smokey haze.
everyone in a tired rage.
fighting for the people.
words on a steeple.
turmoil.
wreckage.
I forgot the message.
the man in green looks at his posh watch as his life is picked up a notch.
the van seen driving away, watch the vague doors slam.
Sam I am.
A becoming of wall street, a beckoning of incompleteness.
he can never delete this.
The green man repeats this.
He runs, he picks up a gun.
He acclimates the trigger with its new position.
The hiring manager fired for his tradition.
Sam I'm becoming.
Now the man in the pickle suit, always running.
Seattle dusk settles.
Blood flows, crystallized.
Now we forget traditional ties for the next three days as the red mans life just fades away.