The molten sloth drags its rotted leg down the city night street in a trail of hideous neon.
It speaks of last night because "there is no tonight."
Accusing eyes spy the creature wondering how it got that way.
"Bad decisions!" it spins back. "YOUR bad decisions."
Shadows look for a savior to sacrifice under the Razor Moon.
Bored children wait for movie version of life.
"I don't banter with sloths," she fraughtly decays. "My vanity is truth."
"I must breathe, after all," sighs the sloth.
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