I came to the gates of the city. Everything had been paved over, rebuilt in silver. Long metal tubes that read as the future: sleek, edgeless, designed to knife the firmament. They read as panopticon. What was left of the old city was covered in aluminum foil, to keep out the rot. I thought I saw a bird. It was a crack in the dome. The brilliant chrome on everything reminded me of hell. And me, without even a beer to throw.
— Brad Nelson