American Exceptionalism is dead.
Its body left to rot in an alleyway, flies joyfully feasting on its festering organs boiling in the heat, steam from the nearby factory cooking it to medium rare, as directionless youth plunder a dumpster for half-eaten wings.
Its body thrown over a bridge, slowly free-falling in the air and landing ungracefully in the contaminated water, floating next to the youth that gleefully swim around looking for an escape.
Its throat slashed in a bar fight, broken glass lodged in its jugular, it's gargling on its own blood. The youth watch closely, they cheer when its body thuds on the ground, when its eyes roll back into its head, when the blood pouring from its neck…