it's the end of summer. the heat is subsiding, but still enough to make you feel.. raw. everything is wrong.
if the opportunity strikes, would you feast upon the vulnerable?

what an awful idea. 'no,' you tell yourself. 'nobody would. not consciously.'
but that wasn't the question and you know it. you figure its not worth even thinking of. that's the whole point of it. a flyer hanging in midtown with such a posed question is meant to invoke a reaction. it's meant to give a push, but for what? you don't know, there's no cause listed. it's just.. hanging there. you don't like the thought of it. perhaps whoever made it did so to spawn guilt in those with something unresolved

---

"it was me," said a small sheep.
party was her name, how tiresome. even more perturbing was her voice. sickly sweet and a touch too loud.