Walking along the rough path, the honking of cars and taxis fades away as my mind focuses elsewhere. A pedestrian on my left bumps into me, pushing my shoulder backward; the same happens on my right. Again and again, I am pushed backward through a sea of meaning and I am drowning. Nobody gifted me a lifejacket and there's no life ring being tossed out to me. No hope for my hands to grab at and get burnt on as I pull at the fiber strands with urgency. The normal aroma of pastries doused in cinnamon and heat is replaced by the pungent smell of rotting meat by the butchers in front of me. With pig blood-covered hands, a man exits the building to discard some unnecessary parts of an animal. I see an eye-poking out of the clear plastic bag, staring at me, screaming for me. Head pounding like the swaying pendulum of the clock standing in front of me, I fall to my knees in the middle of the road, hands encapsulating my ears like two wads of spitballs. Head bowed, out of the corner of my eye I see the water reserve in the distance, it had just been resuscitated from its pre-war life. The scent of sweaty construction workers eating fast food lunches still lingers. Great big support beams crisscross in a show of strength and feat of architecture. The sun glints off the metal, scorching any who dare to touch it. The paint looks brand new but paint is only a facade. It creaks in the breeze and suddenly, a support beam falls.