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moe’s art and the wolf Gang…

some seedy pub off the back end where the art that should have hung in a gallery had some of those more invested known that this was the location of an infamous “wolf gang” whose terrorizing in the streets was like a hungry pack open for hunting season smoking the first and weakest members of this society they could find bending the rules sinister up until their quota was met then to retreat to that small drinking establishment as previously mentioned, there was little dispute among the “gang” when inside the bar as this was the only juke joint in town that would serve them let alone tolerate the “wolves” to allow them to spend the night when many of them were too excessively wasted to leave even though it was the ulterior motive to this that many street people were afraid of these brutal customers as a crew of violent fools capable and culpable of anything under the empty sky, and it is moe’s duty as he did define the rules Here as owner operator and the tavern’s main bartender to protect both the comforts of his clientele and to more generally the unwitting and panicky citizens outside his business range who were not only scared of the “wolf gang” with their strange screams and howls to signal and confuse a main contingent rapidly before being assaulted by their chains and clubs… once the “pack” leader was through the doorway, the doors were then locked to prepare for the night ahead to assure that there would be no leaving or entering until the sun came up the next day, but for the whole night it would just be moe and the wolves… he walked over the threshold just minutes before the closing down and locking up for the big ruckus that was about to consume them in only the short hours of suppression that humanity gave the group to foment a game plan for the next night, as to simply rebel was not anything new for them reeling from trumped up charges set against them for their mayhem as this kind of pornography is a matter of an artistic creativity vital to discern what humanity is at the core… however, back into the night at hand, a few of this brutal posse were starting to get antsy as opposed to artsy where everyone is the personal interpreter of their own experience no doubt the despicable cruelty a single person is capable of when given the right or wrong circumstances… turns out to those of the more surly and tweaky of these bikers of doom considered themselves worthwhile art critics, and were mocking instead of treating the art like true objets as had some of the more vocal critics having condemned the works back in the days before gangs were feared for losing their heads while torturing raping and killing victims as the chosen from a somewhat innocent collection of people who were caught unaware by the surprise and ferocity of the stray “wolf gang” attack merely moments into which options became limited and death was a most assured outcome… art being much more vague than this, the bikers began cursing and strutting ready for action before finally loosening their mask, and revealed what pain is…