The world is going to end in a couple of weeks, or so some
believe, so best hide in the mountains to survive the prophesied flood or meteor
Or why not spend two weeks drunk, stuffing your face with your favourite
cakes or your preferred food of choice?
Jasmine doesn’t need no end of world hype to realise the
human race is in nose dive, what with scientific advancement bringing
mass destruction that much closer.
But hey we can have boob jobs and inject Botox, become cartoon clones, self obsessed and swallowing
whole the mass media’s drone drone drone.
Jasmine has switched off her phone, her computer, instead walks down the precinct watching the
world: the masses making their way home weighed down
with Christmas purchases they queued for in claustrophobic shops, stressed to the bone.
At least if the world ends they’ll go out on a shopaholic
high, crammed in the supermarket aisle, trolley heaped high, texting as they