The dinosaur’s jaws opened wide, teeth glaring in the dawn glow, and froze. It was a mirthful morning at the Bentley Museum. People bustled about, chatting and recollecting fond memories from days past.
Iron mask cloak the hatred and spite engulfing the lives of the workers. They are not free men, as was promised, but instead are slaves to the Abundance’s wim. They can do nothing but what they are asked to. They are The Workers.
Little circles of joy, wrapped in themselves, without thoughts, without tastes, likes and dislikes, without its favorite sandwich or a Twitter account or the greatest pair of sandals in the world or an iPhone 4.