The world was coming to an end. Super-powered psychopaths ruled the country. The state was almost in ruins.
And Bob's Cafe was hosting Amateur Poetry Hour.
Timelock stood towards the back of the restaurant, lurking in the shadows as a youth dressed in black expounded the virtues of soy sauce.
There were a fair amount of people here tonight. Astoria was in the grasp of a dictatorial Epic obsessed with diamonds, but the people tried to live as well as they could. There were several working public services, including the hotel Timelock had visited earlier and the cafe where he now stood.
Much snapping ensued as the young man took his exit, walking offstage as a woman in her mid-twenties approached the mic.
There once was a Hobbit in Bag End...
Timelock rolled his eyes and walked around the tables. There was a salad bar somewhere... ah, yes. There it was. Retrieving a plate and piling lettuce atop it, he walked back to his corner and tried to endure the so-called rhymes of a college student.
The emcee stood up and walked to the front of the platform. "We thank tonight's performers for their beautiful verse. Is there anyone else who would like to come up?"
Timelock gave a snort of derision and set aside his salad. Is there? Unbuttoning his coat, he strode up to the stage, clearing his throat. Sidestepping the stammering emcee, he casually remarked:
I suppose
That I am predisposed
To loathe all of you puny little humans.
I could say
I could talk all day
A propos de la façon dont vous êtes tous terribles poètes.
Timelock's voice grew in intensity as he leaned forwards.
Yes, it is true
I hate all of you
And your pathetic little verses.
But don't feel too bad
It's even worse when you're sad
Sed qui sollicitudo? Non mihi. Actu, suus 'optimus!
At this point the audience was staring at him in what appeared to be a mix of horror and appreciation.
So it's here I conclude
I hope you're all in the mood
For more poetry egregious.
Good night to you all
I now go to sprawl
Distruzione in questo paese.
Timelock spun and walked away from the mic, coattails flaring dramatically behind him.