And so the rain falls down upon the little lad with the
bicycle helmet.

Afraid to be swept away by the storm and utterly unsure
of himself, he cannot but help the shiver down his spine.
Alone on the streets, bumping into the dead glazed-over
faces of the aged passerby’s, the little lad with the
bicycle helmet finds himself lost and confused.
Breaking into a cold sweat as he begins to run down the
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street, he feels his throat and lungs burn with the
invigorating yet toxic old city air.
Breathing in such poisonous contaminant provides a sense
of urgency and injects a stream of adrenaline into the
bloodstream, as the eyes of the little lad with the
bicycle helmet scour the streets.
The streets, the streets.