metatait

As the clock ticks onward, a lone ghost wanders his way through the city. Down hills and alleys he flows, through cracks in the pavement and people. In the shadows of doorways and the hollow lights of steel streets. Homeward bound he seeks refuge from the masks of interaction, all he feels keeps him from total invisibility, total oblivion to the world. As Mars stares balefully down from the starless heavens he laughs to the wind. Each moment is lost in the loneliness and chaos. And found in the consolation of the subtle shifting universe. He gets the joke that so few realize is even there.