God Doesn't Deal in Gold
Tarltan hoisted the bags higher on his shoulder. His eyes followed the long lines of infrastructure upward, stretching with the skyscrapers up into the filthy red sky. He could barely see the last remaining cracks of ruddy light filtering through the tops of the city's jagged looking teeth. The quickly moving vehicles whizzing overhead looked like an army of well-trained flies swarming the sky's rotten maw. Tarltan hoped he would be allowed into the plant before they closed. If not, he would likely need to stay in line overnight to retain a spot this good.
