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He wasn't like the people on the streets. They lived so perfectly. They knew exactly what to do to be happy and they did it without even having to think.
The flow of the water soothed him, threw a cover over his emptiness.
On screen the templates for life were easy to find, but the methods of their construction, as always, remained hidden.
What did it matter if they loved each other or not as long as each could be used as a screen against the world?