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.
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.