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In the near future, on a railroad track in an unrecognizable American City sits a young boy with his grandfather. The grandfather ponders the past and passes the knowledge of a world gone by to his legacy. Boy, he says as the child looks deep in to the ancient tired eyes of a poor figure dressed in rags. There once was a time when clocks were everywhere. Time was known by a quick glance into a familiar location. We were always worried about time. There was always a place to be, something to watch, something to be done, things to be had. We lost ourselves in time and forgot to watch what we were doing. The old man steps onto the track and looks East and West. The heat shimmers off the rocks and steel rails as hundreds watch and wait for a train. The hundreds watch for water in a ruined land nearly void of what is most important to them. Water. Time is of no importance except in it’s relation to death and the time it takes for a drink of water.

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