Landing in a mess of muddled realists was Elijah's nightmares come alive.
A 'con'-gregation. Dissatisfaction in a nutshell.
And little girls rang wiry with noises like dry ice on silver plated plastic. The clock ticked more deliberately here.
Someone said the stock market had crashed again and didn't notice the funny shaped stone in the wall.
There were faces seeming to droop below themselves, like a left ball sack compared to a right.
The atmosphere was thick with not enough and so in an attempt to pull free from this heavy net of essential knowledge, Elijah turned to witness a small spider create string art in the crevice of that stair
And when expressions of concern tripped right over Elijah with a hard sole shoe in the heart he, without lowering phone from ear, shouted 'typical' as he walked away.
