Smooth In Transition

Smooth was a man about town, with all the right words and motions about him like a protective halo. He wore the right clothes, blending into any crowd and sliding between stations as easily as a greased pig. It was an archaic expression, but archaic could be cool in the right places, and his was definitely the right place.

Farming station comprised the haunches of the massive city. Day bulbs were the only source of light, filtering sunlight past the miles of skyscraper and asphalt to feed the fields with a trickle of illumination. A cranky pickup, farting noxious fumes from its tail pipe, zoomed past. People walked and stopped and screamed and were silent all at once; more of a herd than their illegal livestock which were raised and traded in the black market. Smooth had been raised and traded there too. He preferred not to return so closely to his origins, but when he followed the right trails, it might just lead to something pretty cool in the end. He continued to tail his quarry with nonchalant ease.

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