Still, like death.
Rowan watched everything around him moving and dancing with life. The New York
City night life shining it’s brightest, chatter of souls, commute of youthful animality,
finding meaning in mindless pleasure,
Still, like death.
Rowan watched everything around him shifting and sliding like machinery. The New
York City lights coldly lit the turbulent street, flashing windows, rushing cars filled with
empty faces, rumble and shake of the subway, mindlessly repeating it’s route again and
again,
Still, like death.
Rowan watched everything around him stay unchanging and certain, like permafrost deep
underground. The New York City pavement lay silently underfoot, eternal silence,
constant calm, permanent and definite as the chatter of souls. Everything Rowan saw
around him was quiet and
Still, like death.
