Broccoli in a white lamp shade cast shadowy face tattoos to mark the unjoustly. The festival in background is throbbing in directly contrasting sound, to the art nouveau it's sleeping with.
Each vegan burger stand vomits exquisite neon. However the collage itself is apologetically brown. Theatre masks and DJs, VR and a Just Dance floor set, a sprint before midnight, a sprint after discount ethanol; so I gaze and perhaps ponder for a friend.
And yet when counting the heads, I find I needn’t more than my own to hands for the few middle-aged supermarket clerks