There were bells swaying sounds. There was the persistent kissing of metal to metal, metal to wood, wood to wood for the glamorous birth of a skyscraper. There arrives the incessant screeching of tires. The granite sensed clues of cramming, anxious breaths behind tinted glasses and shiny steel. Faster, they thought, was better. Yet the horizontal and vertical desires were never reached. They were there but no one was looking, no one was listening. Everybody appears trapped in their own tints.

In the middle, something, someone is spirit-catching. There were three men assembling metal to metal, metal to wood, wood to wood. There stood one huge canvas before them. As they were working, they synchronically immersed in the sun’s rays and colors between small spaces amongst branches. The sun responsively shed and glimmered its light on the surface of the granite where tires had previously screeched. The concrete became liquid. It was freely roamed now by barefoot sailors. The horizontal and vertical desires were encompassed as the apprehension was replaced with attention. The three men became one huge art. It was radical.

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