rinkori

It truly was a floating world. Back and forth on a pendulum, a metal disk, silver grown dusky and dim as rain clouds. For the citizens of this floating world the days passed in gray succession. Some were lit now and then by the neon reds, the shocks and glows of light from the pleasure quarter, always awake from dawn to dawn. Those were the brightest lights and they were always flashing. Otherwise, the floating world had long since passed its way beyond the sun. Gray buildings leaned hard against one another. Between them wound the streets and there were always doors, doors, doors. The days of the floating world were for earthly transactions