Ticket sales went up. My lungs are wings, breathe, plummet, fly away. My rib cage, the new zeppelin. Breath is the key to my geography. Collapse is not an option. You can be the gas and oil to my shiny new tubes and rotaries. Run on stolen dreams, narcissism, tomfoolery. Come on in, you are exactly what we require. It will only cost nothing. Your id is a town crier. These speech bubbles burst hours ago. All of the words, freed into a prison of their own making, some nouns got out. You grow claws. The sprinkler turns on, the grass is growing.