The shape of things that are.

Boys with long hair, girls in scuba suits, next to artists studios. A small cell that held that bizarre array of characters, all with ambitions and great expectations of power and influence. Desires to be important in each of their own small worlds.

Would any of us succeed outside in the blue sky real world, where the struggling hands no longer caress your back, your value devalued by another with abilities far greater?

We can only try, and hope, we thanked our mothers regardless, and slept with the greatly expected, where power and influence bore no importance.