Karathino

6/17/76

There are rumblings in the undercurrent of the city. The men talk of the changes the guests bring, and the shadows of silence listen.

The sea ripples, unsure of which course to chart and what lives to take.

The air stinks of exhaust fumes and gunpowder, and yet even it waits in anticipation.
  The world burns on a wick
And the wicked learn.