I wake up from my whiskey stupor to the scent of burning motherboards, and I know that something is wrong. Out the window in New York’s Financial District, two men in torn bespoke suits roast a body over an oil drum. It looks like Thomas Friedman’s, but I can’t be sure.

    “Brother can you spare a bitcoin?” one screams.

    In the distance, I see fire.


This is bizzare and interesting.

posted by demure: 1293 days ago