I am looking up at a very steep brown cliff, one that is kissing the clouds ever so slightly. Perhaps it is my skewed perception, just as we gaze upwards at skyscrapers, their tips tremendously smaller than their bases at which we are standing. I am in company of friends and there is loud chatter all around us, the sonorous voices of loud people surrounded by fellow louder people, each and all outdoing one another at being loud until my ears start to ring out the noise. I turn around and am surprised that we ourselves are standing on a cliff, a thunderous waterfall to my right and below, a vague outline of where it hits its stream. I am now in a meadow. I am living in a post-apocalyptic future of sorts and we have come to live more like our ancestors. We are a small community, we live in between a wide river and moon-grey cliffs, subjacent to the ominous, sky touching brown ones further back. We have unforgiving leaders and money is no longer a powerful or enriching entity. We have adopted a communist approach in which we all work for one another, support each member...