The modern man, you see, is an insect

The city's a lady. Except when it's not. Like right now. The city right now is a man, a very slender man. Because the city is badly written. It has never been described with depth. You cannot feel the city as being a city. As being alive. Or I mean cities aren't alive. There was a period of time when cities were often described, possibly even thought of, as alive but that was around the start of the industrial revolution. Was related to the rise in public consciousness of the imago that is "the modern man." The flâneur. I could really go for some flan.

THE BLOG WITHOUT A FACE, PART FLAN

Waltzing on my way to the local confectionary, I was stopped by Coldems McBoy. The blue carrot guy. With orange hair. He drove up in his Jaguar. What a tool.

"Get in," he said.

"I ain't gettin' in anything until you tell me what's all the hubbub," I said, wrestling a cigar around my faceless lips with a faceless tongue on this faceless day.

"Head honcho wants you," he said back. I noticed today Coldems wore a fedora. I noticed because he pulled a revolver out of it. Pointed it at me.

So I got in and we drove to HQ. On the way the day transitioned to night. You could say it transitioned between cuts.