Could it be fate.

Crushed under the weight, I shifted in the shadow and cursed the clocks.

Ones own expectation, nervously ignoring the sounds.

The sounds.

They all play in the pubs and bars, hunting, hunting.

Stop and move through the crowds, hurting hurting.

Immersion, subversion, coercion, it’s just a game of tricks and traps.

The droll life of a literate neanderthal, monkey say, monkey do, backs to the wall.

Graphs and pie charts, populations with academic smarts.

Undergraduate neanderthals, monkey say, monkey do, hands against the wall.