He noticed the residents staring at him. “I’m actually an artist you know.” We all laughed. They all¬†prefer to know nothing about him, it’s just easier that way. What do you like to do? “I like to stay busy,” he said. The sweat soaks his clothes during trash pickup. Every kind of person walks the streets, what a collection of souls! There are those here who’ve lost their soul. It’s been crushed by the soul crusher.

J followed in the footsteps of his father and warned of following other’s ambitions. S keeps a straight face when you joke with him. One man has an artistic son. He swears he wont tote his son around with a pop up art display. T is too young to die but wishes he would. Another man was cast in Shawshank Redemption, and listens to movie scores throughout the day. Each person is living how they know, running from the soul crusher.

Painters, industrial designers, writers, state house workers, vocalists, they all end up there in the end. And the end is now. But in purgatory you bide your time and think while you carry things too and fro. He meets a few friends who also know what’s happening, and they team up, covering and moving. Find an empty unit to hide in, because here comes the soul crusher.