Suffocating, too hard to breathe in a space where everyone else is breathing so much, too much and so heavily. The air becomes stiff and sterile. The lack of variation in rhythm causes short circuits and respiratory failures. The way bodies criss-cross like so many ant colonies, festering on the concrete, bubbling over into irrational outbursts, pinpointed glares, angular movements—all finds an invisible edge, convulsing and gasping for a better portion of pure air. The smell of perfume, stifles my nostrils with an inhuman feeling, artificial, like the trees not native to this region. The scent of food, clogs my circulation, so unlike anything that would be called natural, packaged from the hooves of robotic limbs. Human odors, dwell in my clothing, a grandmotherly stench, decaying in the husk of a living being, already deceased, appearing to exist somehow. All this mixes into this breathing organism, finding itself upon inhalation a sense of life, vitality in every breath. But in actuality, another moment of degeneration and decay, upon exiting my mouth, a foul and rancid feeling, that this moment continues a dilapidated existence.
