An old, wealthy man donning a sixty-thousand-dollar wristwatch raises his fist in glory after he snorts a line of the finest white off the delicate dimples of the professional escort's backside.
A young, impoverished woman wearing a weathered ballcap and a band tightly bound around her arm drops her head in shame and smacks her arm before injecting a dirty needle into her veins.
For the time being, opulence envelops them in a state of bliss that nourishes their interest in living another day.
The days fall and nights rise in the hope of a new beginning or an end. All that is before them as they approach catharsis is a mirage of their promises.
A single woman confidently displays her shapely figure as she flirts with a married man who tenderly lays a single pill onto her tongue.
A cheating husband casually hands a tablet to his faithful wife, who hides her stretch marks from him, to regain her beauty in his indifferent eyes.
They all consume their hopes in the form of a brief serenity in exchange for longevity.
But the sweeping clock dances forward incessantly, refusing to dance backwards for anyone.
