And so the rain falls down upon the little lad with the bicycle helmet.

Afraid to be swept away by the storm and utterly unsure
of himself, he cannot but help the shiver down his spine.

Alone on the streets, bumping into the dead glazed-over
faces of the aged passerby's,
the little lad with the bicycle helmet finds himself lost and confused.
Breaking into a cold sweat as he begins to run down
the street, he feels his throat and lungs burn with
the invigorating yet toxic old city air.
Breathing in such poisonous contaminant provides a
sense of urgency and injects a stream of adrenaline
into the bloodstream, as the eyes of the little lad
with the bicycle helmet scour the streets.
The streets, the streets.