The New Beautiful Captain Launch Lunch

Day breaks, the suit hangs on its neuse of dry cleaned plastic, the shoes lay positioned as to suggest they are the feet of the uniform of the day, a descent to the lower level activates, the cereal stands evermore stale and the scent of the morning rush attacks your nasal. A remote controlled force moves a pair of undetermined legs. The piercing threads of maturity are stitched into a playful mind and a skin sagging satsuma is the brightest color on the train. My journey to lunchtime begins.