The Impotent Satyr

"I mean, the whole city is on fire; why shouldn't my lungs be?" West Olympian Aarnold Lemonberry reasoned aloud with himself. "Some survivors were talking about making a supply run to the Bayview Thriftway, but all 420 locations are having a sale on vape cartridges. And after the fall of the federal government yesterday, the only use for my cash has been for fire-starter (worthless, seeing as nearly everything is up in flames) and for wiping my own ass. I figured the remnants of civilization would have ample supplies of toilet paper for at least a year, but...it was the first thing to go."





A gigantic demonic hell spawn pushed over the newly-constructed Views on Fifth while Aarnold and our Impotent Satyr journalist watched in awe. Aarnold then received a text that brought us back to the present. "Speaking of... This mass text from 420 says that they are accepting all types of currency: cash, bottle caps, bullets, Evergreen Dining Bucks. Hell, they're even playing Devil's advocate, quite literally, and are taking souls if their original host voted Republican in the 2016 presidential election."





We joined up with a group of survivors and trekked across the partially-destroyed landscape of West Olympia, stopping for a breather in the surprisingly-intact Fun Junk house at the end of Harrison Avenue that the demons mysteriously steered clear of. After dabbling in a bit of cannibalism (made possible with the lovely addition of vegetables at Jay's Farm Stand), I worked my way along Mud Bay Road until I reached the big bad beige that is 420 West.





"I've worked here during Thanksgivings, Christmases, my mother's funeral, Boxing Day," an employee named Taylor told me. "The path a budtender walks is a lonely one. I think. I don't really remember what I ate for breakfast, let alone remember if I've talked to anyone outside of work in the last week. But...most everyone has either fallen into the great magma-filled trenches that have opened up around the planet, or they've been snatched off their feet by one of the thousands of flying demons looking for a human edible. So I figure this loneliness will only get worse. But at least I'm employed!"





Thirty minutes from closing time, a meteor had crashed into and destroyed half of 420 West's operation. Regardless, the bouncer up front demanded to see some ID from the space rock, and employees were figuring out a way to carve a smoking device out of the dang thing.









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