Pink confetti tumbled down through the clear cool summer air.
The President of the United States shook his fist.
The entire capture was quiet, convivial. When he stepped from his grounded craft he was politely escorted into a city of ultra-modern buildings and avenues between the mountains, and there, in a small edifice, in a small room, he met his enemy.
Not bad. All within the Peace Rules.
Women sobbed in the streets, their hair trembling in their hands, detached from their heads. Puddles formed wherever women met to weep. See, see, my beautiful hair, fallen! Your hair, you butcher's mate; what of mine? Mine! Yours was hempen rope, a horse's tail! But mine, ach, mine! Like wheat in the high wind falling!
ABOUT THE FONT
Designed by Dušan Jelesijević
Released in August 2010
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