Drifting throughts, carried on a light breeze. The taste of caf, the scent of rain. It is a summer morning in Citadel, and the year is 2020. We are broken, here in the future, but we are not down.
Establishing the boundaries of our new lives we concentrate on what we can. Answers don't exist for the question we all ask: when will this end?
Not really much to say. It’s the weekend. A slow day. Not much going on.
A faded hope matches the mood of a dull morning commute.
The silent journey to work, a time shared with anonymous companions that I see each day I take this transit. I wonder if any of them recognise me, or even notice their fellow passengers?
An adventure into a world on the edge of society, to a place where the usual rules don’t apply. A place of free conversation, where people can be true to themselves.
Not a lot happened, today. But I’m going to tell you all about it, all the same.
Starting the weekend with a little upkeep, then a trip into town. Not a lot going on, and now I need to decide what to do with my night.
In a small room, above a bar, a man tells his story. The audience, as he wishes, laughs.