If the time you spend at your job compresses your soul to the size of an organic soy bean, your subway ride sucks out the last healthy particle out of your cerebral cortex, and you still think that everything will be alright once you reach that little private box of yours you call home, you’re terribly wrong. Something smells from between the walls.
Tune up your perceptual awareness and hold my hand.
Sounds like:
traffic lights changing irregularly, thousands of mosquitos mating, squirrel chewing unidentified bone structure, old yogurt being dropped in a toilet bowl, white noise.
