Denver is fat, full of freaks.
Yep. Ever since January 1, 2014 Denver has changed. I can’t blame it entirely on the legalization of marijuana, but you must admit how loud a siren song legal weed is singing. A clarion call to all the kooks, cops, con artists and cool dads from Colfax Ave. to Costa Rica. I like freaks. I am a freak. I even fronted a funk band called freakboy #9 in the 90s. But I can’t be the only one to see an unfolding friction fixing to fricassee us all if an unforeseen fault-line finds fruition.
Fuck.
Freaks.
I walk all over our fair fiefdom. From Aurora to West Colfax, Park Meadows to Park Hill. As I flip fantasia far and wide-
Two questions form the left right of my feel woe express.
- Where did all these freaks come from?
And-
- You wanna buy some weed?
Is this a false fiction from a (40 year old) old fart? Maybe I need to fire up a fatty and fall back into a featherbed fixture and forget my freak out.
Unsure.
Folks, you’re gonna have to follow me further into the future as I figure it out. Because as yet the Ferris Wheel is not on fire and the freight trains all still function.
So far.
Fuck.
Freaks.
(To be cont.)
Turns Out That Too Many of Me is Not a Fine Foundation.
77°F Partly Cloudy
401–509 16th St, Denver, Colorado, United States
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