A furious West Portal traffic junction channels its fleeting multitudes, their trajectories uncountable to a cursory observer.
Lifeblood streams from an unbound pentagram where convergent tramlines vivisect a suburban arterial.
Another boulevard pours westward across the ensuing mayhem, downhill from an irony of baseless opulence named for a medieval ascetic.
Chaos in equilibrium.
Thirteen endless seconds. Mass-produced corpuscles hover before an inexplicable lattice of red lights, an apparent serenity ill at ease with the industrial throb that persists.
Green. Circulation resumes.
Far overhead, Nemesis nods solemnly and departs, her baleful reconnaissance unknown to the mortal interchange transpiring below.