If You Close Your Eyes And Are A Lucky One
The city floats on clouds, the grime of its streets seeping into the white cumulus mass, turning the sky ominous and dark. But the storm doesn’t break yet; it only drizzles. You can see the towers clearly, jet black standing out against dark gray. They seem too massive, too tangible to be floating midair, and you expect them to fade away into a mirage or fall, heavily, back to earth, shaking the ground and sending tremors out for miles. But the city stays afloat, and instead the mist seeps through your jacket and your skin and down to your bones.