Vanity. Ares

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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twisted. I then laid down in the cell, and knew
that my existence was hanging by a thread; in
that I had not yet been sentenced and my heart
dreamt of being in places the opposite of where I
was. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I felt
that the white bird I glimpsed illustrated that the
world would continue to spin; regardless of
pestilence, quake, fire or injustice: the birds still
would fly, prostitutes and crooked cops would
replace stories of fatal injustice and life would go
on. These thoughts made me wonder if I was
going out of my mind, but I concluded that I did
not believe in that, and perhaps I was going
through crazy, as opposed to being crazy; there
seemed a difference. The punishment of prison
is worst in the light of sheer silence, the death
penalty seemed more gallant and fitting, but in
reality a prisoner's demise is self-inflicted, slow,
quiet as lust, and forcibly introverted.
Chapter 6 — The Penitent Thief, Coctau & Avocado.
La Masquerade Act 3
Another night passed and the next
morning came. The court case continued, like a
casual smoking kills sign on a pack of Marlboro's;
duplicity gently envelopes. I was taken to the
court at the same time as the previous day
(around 9 O’clock). That day I was escorted by
Coctau and a bearded officer I recognised as the
same one Faustian had excitedly told me was
crooked, a few months back. Upon seeing the
bearded officer's face it brought back memories
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