The narrator walks into his accounting office, dressed in a custom tailored suit with wide pin stripes. A hand made business outfit and a pack of Snarlboroughs on the set.
Lot of people had come to Earth, seeking their lifeโs fortune. All had fallen prey to the Ice Age and many were fleeing a coming war. Itโs beautiful now. The city slums had seen their last days.
Violent incarnations swiped near the orphan faces countless times. Children not yet adult were forced to defend themselves against the unknown, as usual. But brotherhood and big sis always made sense, in the heart.
They won. But they didnโt all survive in good tidings. The etched brow of fear will never leave their still hearts. The forsaken are the brightest in such time. That is victory.
The companies interested in the heroic food and shelter trade had moved forward to computing. The dawn of a new, modern age had begun the familiar beckoning call. This time was no different than any other for the people who had faced death on behalf of those hiding in deeply buried fortresses of war and fear.
It was to be one.
The clientele was virtual, but oh so real. The next endeavor, a Korean restaurant on John Street, apparent. Wall Streetโs famed brokers and blue collar workers will have a bit of health indeed. Time is health.
