Notes on the Shaken City

Grief danced as anger in a city of ghosts past. Loyal figurines stepped on unknown shadows, slithering like snakes on streets of fear.The rituals played out like tedious sermons, with platitudes that stretched like the assembled queues.

In moist eyes, mirrors were missing. Caricatures came alive, sketched lines jumping into Tom & Jerry portrayals. And an accompanying worldview.
Noise passed for background music.

In the dreams they slept on, with the potions they drank, fights were badges of honour, to be worn on lapels that the community admired. There was free food, and commiserations. In a life without spellchecks and grammar rules. Or other known grammars of kinship. Glowing like 404 messages.

Simple minds, simple games. Grey forced into black and white and dipped in saffron that spelt red. Black was the colour, green was the envy.