The deserted intersection, gutted out and unappraised. Fuses blown, the signals scrambled. All was dark and out of phase. Here's a holy concentration. Feel it pulsing through the walls. We cup our hands with illumination. All are synced. All are enthralled. Sometimes a body wants to recede. Succumb to atrophy. They're gaining on us, these grotesqueries. It's so hard to believe that we can outrun them. In the brighter territories, where we dance so cavalier, vistas will unfold before us. Yes, the world will meet us here. It makes a body want to proceed, to get up off its knees. Still, we choose to believe that we can outrun them. It makes a body start to believe. The blood flows ceaselessly. Spit and stimuli are all we need. Oh, can't you see? We will outrun them.