Limiter sits on the widow on floor 22, looking down at the scene on saint and summerset avenue, and Anna doesn't share the view, shes far below and caught up in the mess, of a daily life, and all the wholesale strife and duress, part of this show of calendar days but she keeps her head above the polymer waves Fader has that man in his thoughts, hoping he will step, where the others did not, But Ed has his eyes on the road, and studies the concrete as he makes his way home but home seems like a homophone, and he hopes for a key, to fit the room tone buzz in his head, a vision, like those books he read Sequencer stands beyond the final stair, waiting there, for the one that can save them Grant bites his tongue at the figurehead, iterant of all the times hes bled, aware of all the skin hes shed in excision of the modern panorama, the exclusion in this sham of a human extended dialog no one to blame, or bare fangs at, save for these false gods of man
