Warehouse Factories.

The Other Day when I was walking home I saw this group of tribal dancers performing a ceremony nearby. These dancers peaked my interest and I decided to stay and take a look. The dancers all wore beach attire as if this was florida or some shit. I'm like yo it's fucking freezing out here what the fuck is ya'll doin? They ignored my calls and continued with the task at hand. One by one they flowed around in a big human chain looking like a giant awkward humanipede (human plus centipede) rather than the term human centipede which means something entirely different and opposite of what I mean. Oh shit, I've gotten off track again. The dancers broke up the chain and began buzzing around on their own like moths near a flame. The fire seemed to grow bigger and brighter until finally I jumped over the fence with a can of gas I had acquired from a nearby gas station. Upon reaching the fire I poured gas everywhere and burned the dance floor down. Once everyone was gone I began to perform my own dance. Just me and my bag of bones under the stars with smoke rising out of the ground. I danced and jumped with great delight until the wee hours of the morn. It was then that the tribal dancers came back with a bunch of broken bottles and threw many shards of glass at me without my consent. I ran away and managed to spend the night in a abandoned warehouse factory. And yes I mean a factory where they make outhouses. Blogvember Continues.