One after another, like well-developed wax figures, bounce down from the Ferris wheel of the city of Nineveh: first drunken, saucy brats, later disco rats proclaimed as cool party faces, chirping teenage queens, who are primarily interested in the media and the beauty industry and have no intention of taking an advanced high school diploma or taking an English language exam. They may not be accountable to anyone but themselves, because they are rushing through the already confusing, drafty decades, when nothing is what it seems; even pretend friendships can no longer save them from their sullen loneliness.

The sluggish boredom of the senses is still reflected in their gullible instincts. They may still pay dearly for their lives. They rarely wake up from their unconscious quarantine dreams to the warning crowing of the rooster at dawn; on the one hand, they are not interested in the already uncertain and shallow Future, on the other hand, they find themselves in the certain knowledge that as long as their ancestors take care of everything for them, life will shower them with new idyllic gifts.

The streets, littered with ***** and burnt cigarette butts, are still weary in their remaining fatigue, and the equality of opportunity believed to be solid for survival, or survival, cannot particularly kick a ball for them. Clinging to the porches of their teeth, lame pity curses itself just like stretched tolerance, because the fact of safe crossing has become unconsciously meaningless!