There are places in this world where lengths of twisted rebar jut forth like broken bones from cracked and crumbling red-clay walls. Where sparkling chrome dreams rust the moment the acidic light of daybreak dances across their delicate surface. Where madmen ally with preachers who wear gas-masks on their faces, both booming disjointed sermons like errant shotgun blasts in to the depths of the night sky. A world of flickering, buzzing fluorescent tubes who think themselves lasers and will themselves to shine even brighter. Where abstract colors blur together brilliantly in low-res monitors over closed-circuits. Where blackened skies blot out falling stars and blind optimists wish on streaking drone planes in their place. Where ivory piano keys are hammered in to brutal subservience by filthy, calloused, brass-knuckled fists — and you and me find a way to dance to all of it.