In a grey city that breathes soot, they walk from one end to another in order to survive. Leaving traces of themselves in the cold sidewalk, trampled by others who are then trampled by others.
Yordo sits in a small plastic chair, barely his frame can keep himself in precarious balance. He lies in a four-by-four office cage, with barely space to stretch. Eyes glazed with apathy, his mind already checked out. Dreaming of far away, in his mind waves are crashing, a seagull is crying. He can almost smell the unseen sea that beckons to him.
Elsewhere, in another cage, another office, many stories up, Lassia is at a meeting that resembles more a funeral. All wear black while their faces wear sombre and grim. A man speaks of doom and gloom, of damnation and loss for all. Lassia smooths the creases from her dress pants and glances from the corner of her eye at a nearby window. The sun is shining bright, a cloud passes by placidly, for a moment her heart is lifted briefly.
Other cracks appear on the urban prison, faces briefly smile, eyes open wide, momentarily breaking the dreaded monotony. But in the end the grey city claims his own again. Though for a moment they tasted freedom, even if they already forgot, and they march in line with the others from one end to another just to survive.