In the realm of silvered dreams where urban stars blaze too dimly, we assemble. The rebels of convenience and comfort, silken punches thrown wrapped in kitchen foil. Articulated gestures masked with the mystique of heavenly twinkles – a dance perhaps, or mere folklore reenacted under office fluorescents.
Somewhere among confetti, contradictions are kept warm by espresso. Reality hums through floorboards, whilst its illusory twin pirouettes past subway exits. You are yet to learn that burdened expectations reveal more than the simplest delusions.
Beneath the Façade Whispering Prospects