He says he wants to be a city planner. Wants to build things. Things that don't go together. Things that don't make sense. Pyramids upside down, floating buildings, a strip joint next to a church. And I know he'll find himself a place to live. That place to build. In a truth of man, never a truth of mankind.

So he blew up of his rock on a rocket ship, left Anomie, now heading towards Anarchy. That's where he's meant to be. Where they should have raised him. Anarchy's no building rules. Even more so – no truths. He's of that same structure. Blowin' up from his family and friends. Blowin' up from his girl, his entire world. Seeking out his true passion. The one deep set inside him. The one that never left.

That one was born after his birth. As a child, visiting New York City, there were no rules. None to their gravity or structure. He was raised to sell insurance, but understood their architecture too well. Always had. Traveled the city often.

And they'll say he's a genius. Limitless ability for building things. Things in the present, so he doesn't build for the future he moves. He's followin' no guidelines, there's none that he should. None of their rules could lead him like his own.

He says it's about the strategy, less about the tactic. Not about how tall or long of what he wants. All about the resources and where they're placed. The way he needs them used and when. How well he will when he's penniless. A mental checklist.

So now he's flying to Space City.