He was just one of those nameless lost souls wandering the avenues of places that don’t actually exist.
but the flagrant manner in which he eschewed the language of those societal types up there in them buildings downtown has always been a point of some contention amongst his dissident, parochial cohort. all of whom are out there trying to make a name for themselves, in that frenzied maelstrom they call modern life.
it was the manner in which he had presented his rejection to their restrictive vocabulary that was so fervently objected to. discussed passionately amongst the various splinter cells and affinity groups which made up the local anarchoid circles: there was language, and then there was language. true believers that they were of the possible levels of violence and mayhem which could be wrought should certain words fall into the wrong hands. that’s the stuff that keeps you up at night.
catch my drift?
they were the least of his concerns though. the real test of his faith would be the inexorable web of disinfo he was to face, that inchoate wilderness of mirrors we’ve all come to inhabit. rings encircling rings of informants informing on lower strata of informants: the ones whose raw data was the foundation of the whole tottering structure. confidences exchanged between agents tripled now quadrupled in conflicting allegiances to esoteric alphabet agencies sovereign only to themselves.