here we are hovering over the crystal city, the spires and turrets pierce the skies, the movement of people below, the crisp energy over the green areas, the vacant patches where industry works, wisps of stratus as we zoom in upon the garden in an anonymous suburb where a girl sits blowing bubbles towards a purple lizard.
'See Frakula,' the girl says, 'it's perfect, a perfect sphere.'
'Yeah,' says the lizard in a french accent, it's almost perfect.'
'No it is perfect.'
'Ahhh Emma i hate to tell you this but it is not a perfect sphere, see how gravity works, it pulls downwards stretching the fabric of the bubble downwards. Emma nothing is perfect in this world.'
Emma blows another bubble, it shoots upwards, 'I disagree. You are thinking in absolutes, nothing is perfect in this world but the imperfection to me is perfect.'
'Well i don't wanna argue with you on semantics. Can you light me a smoke?'
Emma leans over and passes Frakula a packet of cigarettes. 'You know these are very bad for your health.'
'Yeah well that's what they say but i don't get much pleasure these days and i'm cutting down to a pack a day.'
'Have you tried patches?'
'Yeah but it's not the same.'
Emma blows a series of bubbles within bubbles, 'Oh look Fracula look.'
'Pretty cool Emma, pretty cool. Jesus i wish they made these self lighting, its very hard to ignite the ends.'
'Here let me help,' Emma leans over to offer a light, 'Hey Frakla, i've got some weed if you wanna skin up.'