A pair of stacks smoking spears pierce the cerulean sky. The city suffocates under the day’s cold dry expectations. It is so crowded that they stack parking lots upon each other. Thick cement streets that spin and bend in a DNA spiral; leaving the masses dizzy and punch drunk tired. The population is more condensed then a can of tomato soup and half as blushed for being rushed. Meters tick a quarters time away. Trains and truck startle the bleary eyed workers awake. Traffic taking them to places they do not want to go, but still going to dam slow. Parking lots fill with the mad mechanical masses. Zombies stumble from the coffee houses seeking their steaming caffeine cure. Skin tones and gender identities blend into a strange shifting blur, becoming a humming human factory. Homes become ghost towns where no sound is found. Until the day’s end finds lost children of all ages returning to their dead eyed dreams. Bodies bound to sleep and keep putting up with the same ground hog’s day. A parade permanently put on repeat.