Live to Buy

I'm having KFC. Not a regular KFC; a Dubai KFC. Never has the idea of eating dead chicken bodies been rendered so effectively. I'm surrounded by a hundred and twelve earsplitting kids, the admonishments of the parents raising the hubbub to a brawl. I spit the battered meat from my mouth and leave before the static makes my head explode. I'm creatively broke out here, I've got less inspiration than an Ikea catalogue. The all consuming nature of this town is under my skin. They whip up a cityscape in a decade, the roads are long and straight; straight, long roads that you can't get off of, roads that take you inevitably to your destination. Luxury is everywhere, but it is an eerie kind of opulence, like it doesn't really fit, a glamour with no integrity, no structure. It is like dust. And all the while the sun. The sun beating the land back into the dust, the sand swirling, waiting to recapture what has been lost. The city has all the indestructability of a fast food wrapper.