I’m all dressed up and ready to go
The latest disaster zone was once an immaculately served city
It still is — that’s why the news cycle is on overdrive.
This the reason my career making role will finally take center stage
As I allow my wardrobe to be selected accordingly.
Trench coats in the appropriate hues and the complimentary scarf detail — preferably a tame plaid notation
Hair cut is checked. The ratio of the back to front still brims with youthful appeal and patriotic idealism.
The city is in gorgeous disarray and the weather is seasonably neutral which means good hair days are ahead.
The mood is cautiously calm and serene and the path for us is clear
Stations are set up at every corner but we’re lodged right where the action is.
Cameras can capture the scenic frames as well as the overtly blue sky
But the evening time will go perfectly with my wardrobe and freshly cropped hair.
The words coming out of my mouth will resonate because as the ordained messenger, I was erected for moments like this.
The script is filled with rhetoric but all you need is my profile and well timed issuance of pain.
So many but not too much to overwhelm my delivery
The crowd will grow soon and as they spill out — we will capture the key players who lost out for the glory of a shot.
Yes, he matters. He always does.
Cut to me. Light up my features. Watch me dig into the fibers of the memorial.
The faces of the depressed. The agony of the bereaved. The images of what was started and never finished.
Trump says he will fuck up the fabric wearing militants with the shit only America can spare.
This is war
No. This is a tragedy.
Edit that please
It all has to be consistent, so let’s focus on this war while I still look safe
The war at home will have to wait
Shit. The hair in my face.
Cut to the woman and her daughter while I rearrange.
Hi, this is the white male with the sleek hair and pointy noise with the spruced up collar — reporting from the scene of the devastation…