The road is clear. The signal green, pointing skywards and encouraging.
Around the hands of the clock that tick away so inconsiderately, the world erodes. Steadily.
Rather cunning of time, is it not?
The journey towards ruination is hardly noticeable for all the ones drifting on the waves of time. Rising and falling, rising and falling.
Yet moving on, nevertheless.
There is no certainty that the domineering structure, the symbol of a civilized metropolis, which holds the clock so steadfastly will not crumble upon itself one day.
Yet you move on. Indifferent of the possibility that you will be crushed underneath.
About a couple of hours more and the sun will turn its back towards this sluggish, haggard city.
And the terror and horror will roam free.