Life is a buzz, don’t you agree? From the glimmering spires of Empress Teta to the darkest, grimiest, alleyway, it sure is a buzz. A buzz on the edge of an injector. Ride the Hydian Way until you reach your destination, poverty-stricken paradise.
Inheriting a hard life Milo’s only connections were others who flung alley-grease and stole creds from unlucky bazaar merchants and patrolling security. Down this low even the neon didn’t reach. What did? The run off from the artificial parks and their lakes, down down down to the darkness below.
Now listen to the beat, the rhythm of life, snuffed by duracrete and smothered in steel. The cries of the mother, the sighs of the brother, the blast blast of the ganger’s beams. This is the harmony of a certain vagrant’s youth, all to the Republican theme.
When life is a abuzz with misery, downlow all there is is history. The old tech, thrown away, provides a wealth of mystery for the savvy youth. A wire here, a circuit there, and the neon blue of the holo hue provides a window into what was, vermouth.
But histories and biographies cannot sustain the troubled and young, avoiding gangs was tough, and gettin’ food was rough. A credit from a pocket would surely not go amiss. But what is this he finds laying on the curb? A needle with a treasure so divine. A buzz on the edge of an injector.
Ride the Hydian Way until you reach you destination, a hole in the wall for rejects so sublime. Nose full of powder, mouth full of wine, feel the thunder, feel the shine.
Every chits and hit, until the trip and fall that nearly ended it all. A force unseen shifted the fates from routine, to a wish and a want to be free and clean.
Years of waste are not quick to dismiss, and he was always swift to reminisce. A relapse here a relapse there, freedom was siezed from the desert and with a parting gift of lifted credits a ticket abroad had its merits.