No automobiles pass. Save for cows, streets empty. Mooing hunger moves them past closed banks. No flags flutter from the poles. Shots are first, shouts like bullets second up and down, and red cattle bleed red in pools on red bricks.
Green apples rot yellow in the yard.
Fog fades lightscape in and out. The elevated train streaks the dark, like the silver Milky Way in the sky. The racetrack's lucky golden ring loops aside the blue water pool. Anglos taste the brine of seasalt. Three sailors sniff cyanide.