The parade, seen from the 70 something floor of an office building appears as ants, one following another, scrolling through a maze of concrete walls and streets below. Wherever they crawl the area erupts with color as people crowd the street and their sky fills with confetti. Down there every one is probably being bathed in the music of gigantic marching bands; shrill brass notes exploding over them, shattering into pieces that rain down in a new age rendition of some old school jazz.

The window pulses slightly in rhythm with the powerful banging of bass drums… still, by the time it reaches this 70 something floor of the office building it falls silent. The only sound is the war between the ticking of the clock and the clacking of silver spheres swinging on the desk.