Writer. Dreaming in the medium – where code compiles, coffee brews, and plots barely resolve.
They are Gray. Chapter 1. Limited Freedom.
How slowly this taxi crawls! Almost nine in the evening, rush hour long past, yet we still get caught in traffic jams, stop at lights, constantly weaving from lane to lane on the wide six-lane streets. Dusty buildings, shops each glowing with its own light, advertising signs and small street food stalls. Coffee shops, pedestrians, cars. Dusty palms in squares, flowering bushes, buses. If I were alert and foolish enough to roll down the car window, I would smell the omnipresent exhaust fumes, ...
They are Gray. Chapter 1. Limited Freedom.
How slowly this taxi crawls! Almost nine in the evening, rush hour long past, yet we still get caught in traffic jams, stop at lights, constantly weaving from lane to lane on the wide six-lane streets. Dusty buildings, shops each glowing with its own light, advertising signs and small street food stalls. Coffee shops, pedestrians, cars. Dusty palms in squares, flowering bushes, buses. If I were alert and foolish enough to roll down the car window, I would smell the omnipresent exhaust fumes, ...
