Above the city, a falcon faces the landscape below, her ghostly feathers shifting among the clouds. Her eyes – glittering, diamond-like, judge. What is in her mind? What does she see? A thousand souls shadowing the hot pavement, rubber against cement, pacing, smiling, crying, yelling, staring into the clouds, searching for falcons.
The sweat of this land lies in the canals, wiping the dust off the deserted soil, flowing ever eastward into the morass of the white sky. A shouldering heat rises from the caverns below, those haunted dens of black and light, where dreams are born but never pass away. In the steel homes above, children sleep in the mist, fighting battles against foes of ink, transforming into winged heroes just for one night, again and again.
Against all instincts, the cougar prowls the sidewalk for prey. Hearing the whispers of old ladies, the scornful breath of the aged and wise, the cougar slinks in the alleyways and the hidden places between lines, where he discovers to his surprise that he never left.