The Dirty Nil - "Hate Is A Stone"

Life in The Claw. A beautiful small town with five thin mountains surrounding it. They curve up and away from the town center, forming what look exactly like five clawed fingers. The town sits in what would be the palm. My house is on the point where the curved thumb-fold hits the main straight-line fold. Right in that wrinkle, on a dirt cul-de-sac that's full of abandoned strollers and big-wheels. I walk the streets, people say it's too big to be without a car but I don't care, and I think about how close we are to the precipice. You see, there's an old story about The Claw, that if the town, as a whole, does too many bad things, that the fingers, the mountains, will just close up and the ground will make a fist, and we'll all come out the sides like goo. Of course not too many people believe this story, I'm not sure if I believe it myself, but sometimes I wonder. Like the way you can do something wrong when you're not even trying, it just comes so natural you don't even notice. Like a dog doesn't care about a haircut, we just think it looks nice, you know? And if there's a way of looking at it that we're one sin away. One unreturned text message, one step on the back of someone's heel while they're walking, one making someone feel left out, away from the whole thing just being closed up and squished to death. I wish there were a jumbotron, a skywriter, heck a website, where they put the score up there, how close we are, how many chances we have left. [PWYC]