We see streets already abandoned by billionaires in rockets reaching for the sky. We look away.

We taste the jet fuel in the air, years of bad decisions tainting tongues. We learn to mask the sour.

We feel the change on the wind, overwhelming heat and pressure. We wipe the sweat and continue on.

We smell the smoke of phantom fires, careless actions and martyred men. We lace the air with sage instead.

We are hopeless and helpless and unholy. We sweat down our collars waiting for false men to make their moves, to turn the tides of rising water, to save the senses from dystopia.

We are wrong.

We are not going to be saved by anyone but ourselves.