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| Picture if you will a stolid autumn day rife with orange, red, and their derivatives. A lonely leaf wafts down from a tree, swaying a happy face in the wind till it hits hard earth. | |
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| An asphalt rode runs through the trees, its worn blacky conglomerate cracking and breaking where manmade meets mother earth. It bubbles and oozes its way to the city, splaying an organism in two. | |
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| Why you turned me into a frogman? NO! | |
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