Three bikers in metallized boots and Mad Max leathers sat at the outdoor tables. They formed a feral presence in the hypermodern complex, like carrion-birds on a skyscraper cornice, filling an unplanned niche in the ecology of the future.
“There is love in me the likes of which you’ve never seen. There is rage in me the likes of which should never escape. If I am not satisfied in the one, I will indulge the other.”