Night.
When had the blanket of ink had decided to stain those passing stiff white collars?
The endless parade.
Where had this mysterious liquid come from?
The endless debate.
The ominous ink dripped down the blindingly white collars of the pedestrians which passed on the sidewalk. The darkness seemed to coalesque in between blinks of the eye – the fascinating propriety exchange between the sun and opposite – the mysterious…other. What name hides behind the uniform playfulness of the shadow? Or if the shadow is the uniform, then where is the playful nametag? These questions and others offered themselves to the perspective, which galloped along the segmented pavement. This particular entity did so on a horse with no name, whilst humming the American reality.
The perspective’s eyes took to the streets
When had the passing vehicles acquired their luminous bloodshot eyes?
Time wasn’t to be trusted, not at this time at least. Already entire moral genealogies passed, in passing – they sped on as usual, but their gashead eyes now pierced deep from the nightly scenario ahead.
Time…time and place. These were the two questions which hammered away at the elusive bio-dome – a pressurized maelstrom of drug induced effects.
“What are you on?â€
This question exploded out of the collared automatons with a rather abrasive normality.
A simple phrase, it entered the catfight of conscious confusion and systematically took over all attention. For a brief moment the universe stood on its toes to look over its own shoulder for a perspectivist translation.
“I’m on Earth with a diminished egoâ€
The perspective was not sure if he whispered, yelled, or simply stated the answer to the question at a reasonable level of volume.