out of the box.

[tapclaret]

Birdie Lee walks down the street, and doesn't look at anyone.

The perpetually old man on the street corner (how old is he anyway? when will he die?) lights up another joint and settles himself back against the wall. Old Man has been smoking Wreath laced with Soul since before Birdie can remember when. Wreath makes the world real pretty and Soul sends you higher than you have any right to go…

Point being, Old Man's lips are the color of dried blood from the sores and scabs that have formed on them.

Well, that's what District Six is all about, anyway. Once upon a—damn long—time ago it was about saving what was left of North America, about creating formulas and equations of the future. But that stuff has long since been put to right.

Now it's District Six, trying to bring about the Apocalypse of People. 'Cause there's nothing that'll hook you like a straight hit of Wreath, or Soul, or Bliss, or Heart.

Nothing that will kill you faster than its unavoidable addiction.

But that's the point and that's what the people who make it want. Scientists predict (again with the formulas) that in a few years, District 6 will overtake District 1 with the most income.

Chemicals are a business. Addiction is a prosperous outcome. The Capitol buys the business. The Capitol becomes addicted and HELLO, District 6. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, District 1.

In District 6, it's all raging neon colors and everything that can fly, does. Anything concoction people can inject into themselves they do.

The scientists own this damn town.

Every market, every theater, every bar, every auditorium of every school. They make everything; they have the power. They create anything scientifically possible from nothing.

And when a scientist walks past you on these streets?

You better bow down as low as you can.

------------------

Birdie returned home to find her family at the breakfast table.

They were eating breakfast while the house was still quiet. They were eating cereal straight out of the box. Birdie sat down, poking at a browning banana with discontent. It had been in the house since God only knew when.

Her dad's head hung limply from the support of his neck. His eyes were downcast, watching as the fruit squished beneath the prod of Birdie's fork

Eating cereal straight out of the box with forks. This wasn't the way they'd lived three or four months ago.

"Little Birdalee, can you take your brother his breakfast, sweetie? He'll be waking up soon. He hasn't been sleeping as long--" Elena Stark seemed to come out of a reviere as Birdie's chair scraped the floor.

"Sure, Mom."