| Dashing into dank little caverns, paying money to ride the rail, a garden of skyscrapers towers over the busy streets. The inhabitants scurry about, paying no attention to the passers-by or the residents of the street. A long procession of mechanical paraphernalia crowds the streets and smoke rises endlessly from the chimnies of dozens of factories, in which men toil and sweat, going about the duties of their busy day. A hundred or so sounds ring out from all directions, and smog covers the blueness of the sky. |