These were scattered in a puddle of clear fluid in a dark corner of the Powell Street BART platform when I got out of class on Monday night.
I don't know what they're about. I have no idea what it is the kids are doing with compressed gas nowadays. But this I tell you, my friend:
I can recognize thne refuse of debauchery when I see it. I know depravity when it's staring me in the face, and this little scene was dripping with it.
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