The film of the short story first part. Read it here:

http://www.armageddonbuffet.com/requitedecstasy.htm

pick up here as it seems here is where it is hard to hear--but if that is such a problem then read the story at the lin and comment and rate and all that good stuff as I am really interested in opinions"

As we near the market area, gunshots have faded into the distance and our mouths start watering to the intoxicating smell of roasting cat flesh tempting us. I hate cat flesh for tasting so good. I loved cats, not originally for food, but now they are plentiful amidst the ruins and can be cooked in a multitude of ways. We trade ammo for cat tacos, and we are hungry and high, and we savor every bite. "Remember back before the fall, when we went to the beach that long ago time that seems not so long ago?" We look into each others eyes and remember... On the beach far away from it all, sand running through my hands. "Look" I was so incredulous hearing my voice say "look" as the sand fell in wet clumps. We had dropped our acid over an hour ago and it was starting to kick in. The sky was velvet carpet with a full half dollar reflecting off the ocean. "More sand in that clump than there are people in the world," I observed. "Here on shore or in the sea, I can see how insignificant we really are," Stacy spoke. "Yes." I seem to speak. "Mark, look." Stacy points out a filthy piece of rope that had washed up on shore and seemed to breathe and writhe in the surf glowing from the moonlight. We bend over the rope forming a U with our bodies. Her long barkwood colored hair hangs near my face and I ran my sandy hands through it feeling its warmth and she breathed and we look away from the rope and into our eyes and her breath entered my mouth and we stretched up linking hands now and our tongues met and my hands went to her back and I felt her spine sending out energy which I absorbed greedily, and we continue to kiss and I breathe into her like a fleshy god enlivening his creation and we sink to our knees, tongues untie. "You..." "Mark..." We can't speak, our eyes say everything and the god damned thing is that they have always been saying the same thing. We just had never taken the time to listen. A big wave hits our legs as the tide moves in and we crawl sputtering, leaving our grooves in the sand so temporary and we roll into the sand together, a slip-knot of desire, and mold the sand to our image... And here we are now in the same ol' thing like before the fall, bitchin' because we're on acid and we know we have to eventually return back down in it and we hang -- as we did before -- in there, waiting for things to get better... We decide to walk and check out the stuff for sale in the market -- all the same consumer crap so popular before the fall, even bigger now (well, aside from the cat flesh): drugs, porn, smokes, ammo, guns, double A batteries to keep those portable CD players and Walkmans going, antibiotics for the various plagues still active... Traders from all over the countryside would come to this market which was a kind of "safe zone," which was not to say that heavy bad vibes were not uncommon, but mostly people respected the neutrality of the square. (less info)