Everything has a life. Every inanimate object posses a feel about it; a purpose of being something more than they seem. You know like when you're in the forest alone by yourself and night is casting her cloak about the world. Your pulse starts to pick up; tiny jackhammers start pounding along the inside of your veins. You begin to get scared because there is a feel about the forest now. Why? What is it that has the hairs on the back of your neck rigid with fear? What of man though and the things he has created? What of the vast concrete jungles that he has erected across the face of…
