[ He doesn't say it with rancour. It's a fact; the City is little better than a waiting-room, most of its inhabitants on brainless stand-by. ]
[ There's a beat, before he lobs the buttermilk into the cart. The high-intensity fluorescents and elevator music -- some jazzed-up number ripped off of Funky Town -- are feeding a pounding ache behind his eyeballs. Or maybe it's this absurd quest for Windex and paperclips and rotisserie chickens where a week before he was slitting throats and forging passports and blending ghostlike with the crowds. The mood dissonance is something he's accustomed to; he's rarely flat-footed for long. But that bubbling paranoia, that hyperawareness that's kept him alive, is harder to shelve aside. ]
[ With his lifestyle, recidivism in the City would be all too easy. ]
no subject
[ He doesn't say it with rancour. It's a fact; the City is little better than a waiting-room, most of its inhabitants on brainless stand-by. ]
[ There's a beat, before he lobs the buttermilk into the cart. The high-intensity fluorescents and elevator music -- some jazzed-up number ripped off of Funky Town -- are feeding a pounding ache behind his eyeballs. Or maybe it's this absurd quest for Windex and paperclips and rotisserie chickens where a week before he was slitting throats and forging passports and blending ghostlike with the crowds. The mood dissonance is something he's accustomed to; he's rarely flat-footed for long. But that bubbling paranoia, that hyperawareness that's kept him alive, is harder to shelve aside. ]
[ With his lifestyle, recidivism in the City would be all too easy. ]