When the rain tosses the best out of the road, what is left? Broken sets of individuals with nothing to hide for. Prepared or forsaken. So they walk together awaiting the flames and heated metal.

Watching the last drift on through curved reflections in a straight space. Down towards the end. The other end. Straightened by the irregular lines in a coordinated direction. We average out the inaccuracies to the point that we don't see. Thinking about their well being. And agreeing but not feeling the same.

Take a step back. A moment. Squeeze the eyes and take a breath. Think about it differently.

Don't suppose that even if their is agreement over the issue the solution is anything similar. 15 years a tower. Growing. Thousands.

And collapse. Irrelevant in this universe. Mindful of methane lakes and hydrogen clouds and explosions in the sky.

But we still get into "in to" when it matters here in this tiny spec.