The end, and the beginning of an era of American repression and gluttony, of casual decadence among the ghosts of corporate excess. I feed and brood and wander the streets. Heavy machinery beats and wines across the battered landscape. The black sky blends into the street, the sky void, teeming, quiet, blasting unbearably loud. Down beneath the bridge, the great peace.
Leap into the human realm, feeding, breathing, running for the bus. The view out the dirty window is a blasted landscape of concrete and tar, men in coats standing silently, staring at things in the distance. Whether an airplane or bug, the same instinct as any beast. Under the slab an army of tunnelers, sawers, slimeballs, and queen slimeballs.