The Parking Lot at the End of Time (In Syrup We Trust)

Door swung open with a tired chime Neon buzzed in borrowed time Parking lot in a salty haze The world felt stuck mid-phrase Kevin stopped by the front door line As if he'd stepped in a memory, not a time He rubbed his sleeve, stared at the ground, "Okay... so... I know how this might sound." Mulch beds rustled, gravel sighed Pink plastic shapes began to slide Flamingo riders, still as stone Kazoo hum in a minor tone Not a charge, not a fight Just judgment standing in parking lot light No receipt. No warning. Just... tonight. Kevin froze, hood pulled tight He knew that sound from another night Llama whispered, "Kev... you good?" He shivered, "I may have misunderstood." Bone hands resting on plastic reins Skeleton eyes shining old refrains One stepped forward, slow and sure This moment had happened before Bob looked up, confused and small "Are we... in trouble? At all?" Kevin sighed, voice low and thin "Maybe... here we go... again." Llama wondered what she sipped Back aboard that stolen ship. Bob asked, "What's their deal? Wait, is that processed veal?" Flamingo riders from the end of time Waiting where the night was signed Cycle hums in pink parade Silent debt that must be paid And Kevin knew what came next. But Bob... started whispering in Tex-Mex "…holy guacamole… El Diablo… forgive us… in syrup... we trust"