Walking in the street, thinking about life as we know it, everyone passing is doing something different from the other; living their life, other thoughts, hopes, and dreams; a separated existence, but after a while, I see the strings, and it grows in my head.
It's like there are threads attached to them from the above; they do what they are doing, what they meant to do, nothing less or different except what intended to be less or different.
That's...