premonition It was a winter that was summer, almost. As such, it was a premonition of the end of the world. As he sat in his office tower, the midday heat made the room stuffy, and the traffic moved in the streets with a desperate noise. There was a sense that the city was poised on the brink of a supreme self-renunciation. The nation was at war for no particular reason. This war, though happening halfway around the world, was causing changes in the atmosphere at home. Swirls of pink fumes, or blue goo, enveloped the citizenry and clung to their skin as they scurried from subway to apartment. Last night's debutantes woke to find their faces melted into the pillow, while whores for half a century became sweet-scented virgins overnight. In his guise as Corporate Executive at the Highest Levels, he sat in his high-backed swivel chair and surveyed his domain. His rat face sniffed with haunting precision the perfumed vapors that encased the city. He was bored with his rat-faced disguise. He longed for a ceremony of music and muscle, a disco Armageddon as his world slipped into chaos. He turned from the window and with fingers like jointed pencils, or ribbed condoms, groped for a cigarette among the multitude of accoutrements cluttering his fur-lined box.
	location: New York City date: 1991 average rating: [not rated] your rating (0-10):