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in times like these


A storm breaks in upon the musty streets, sharp lightening flickers on the horizon revealing the thick blanket of hovering clouds, and the smell of rain on the bone-gray asphalt informs the senses that all is not well in this pretentious little society. The sound of city life lends to anxiety upon anxiety; the passing of frequent speeding wheel, the thumping of deep bass, the howling of city dogs, the thundering of jet-powered blasts approaching touch-down, the squeaking of metal on metal as the tires slosh to a halt near streets end. The familiarities of the city fail to comfort the unsoundest of love-starving hearts. From my balcony, the well-lit tower, or should I more accurately describe, fortress of imagined wealth, crowds in on the saturated horizon of florescence and dust reminding me that all is not well in our most advanced of civilization. All to frequently a speeding yellow transport clogs the stillness of quickly settled air, meanwhile a random youth clogs her way alone down the ominous path, and I am reminded that these times are frivolously wasted on what matters least.

A storm is set to pass through, and not without much anticipation of destructive winds and fierce tornadoes. There is a coarse honk, then click, and slam of a door, followed by the igniting of screaming engine and rushing air as the vehicle speeds to an endless destination. The lightning grows more frequent as in a manor of show slowly reaching toward her climax, and soon to be followed by the echoing force of thunderous vibration. The clip-clop, slap and scratch of human-like shadows return to their dwellings with sympathetic purpose. A sign of the times, maybe, but all of this to remind us that all is not well in the world today. Thunder crashes and so do markets. Lightning makes no small glow of the evening sky, and surely, as quick as the glow disappears, so does the glow of each mans face as he learns that his deep pockets lined with silver turn to shallow caves filled with annoying muscles clinging to rock and pebble. And I am reminded that in times like these what matters most is often not far from our blindly-turned eyes.

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