like so many slaughtered pigs on an assembly line of death.
The heat ladened evenings choke the mind,
suppressing the mechanism that forms intelligent thought.
Drops of sweat sneak down the back
like newly hatched spiderlings racing away from a cannibalistic parent.
The only sound in the ears; the beating of a heart, the labored breath and an occasional baritone growl from what seemed to be an infinitely empty stomach.
The day trudges on like a defeated army slogging its way through thickening mud.
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