Prologue

Picture a skyscraper, a long, cloud-reaching, skyscraper. A building so tall and so unbelievable that you'd think even the slightest breeze could send it falling to the ground. With it's reflective windows and strange sharpness the building itself is like a glass tower. A glass tower with many floors and unknown objects.

Then picture another, and another, imagine countless skyscrapers each different and each with unknown treasures inside. Imagine all of them reaching higher then the one before it and the thin alleys and streets serving as the only thing that keeps them apart. The cars below would be flecks of dust flickering through the maze of the buildings and all the little people each in their own little lives.

When you stand on the edge of a skyscraper and look below, you are the tallest thing you know and the only one, with the wind fluttering through the towers you are king and the land before you is your castle.

Now, picture when the skyscrapers end. The buildings shrink the cars are no longer dust, and the people are no longer little. The small imperfections become bigger and no longer disappear under the shadows of the towers. The roofs don't stand taller than anything and the glass towers are now just paper boxes. There's no more business, now just shops and no more castles now just rooms.

But in this little land there are still petty, beautiful things. Like flowers in the cracks of sidewalks and trees with their leaves still green. The little land is a place of small things, good or not.

And from this little land, the city spreads further and further, farther than you can see when standing on the top of the tallest tower not limited by the horizon.

I stand here staring out at this world before me and all seems quiet, no sound but the calm hush of the wind taking leaves down side walks. But I know, and I know good, this city of towers, houses and people is far away from the idea of quiet.