Before the dawn smog clears, we weave in chains. At intersections, we criss-cross — cross our ruby lights, linked one behind the other as we drive each other on, some hearing the music, but most deaf to the song. If I paused mid-flow would our track stutter? Would anyone care enough to stop,or would they just blow their horn? I want to break this pattern, but I’m a coward, I’ll weave the emperors cloth. Resigned to my fate, I keep moving on, a bloody speck of harmony, in a soulless urban song.
Photography credit: © Brayden Law, Vancouver