I think of all the lights and the nights. The factories. The signs. From the 102 cities you go to. In the plastic-city. Where there's always room for you. To move, to blend in. To make your luck. So long as you don't change. You're just another face on the street. A faceless number. Out of the ordinary. And out of the dark. No one knows what it was trying to get at. But it's been in existence for 4000 years. We know it doesn't feel right. To walk around with this stuff everywhere. There was a lot of pollution too. From people who didn't have cars. And when they couldn't decipher the text. They were like someone who had lost their way in a dream.