Grey men in straight armed suits march down the road, all in single file. They are bone thin, faceless, each walking in the isolation of a lone death. They enter a steel grey building with yawning entrance, each disappearing slowly and definitely from sight. A thin stovepipe juts from the very top of the building, letting out a steady stream of smoke. Slightly greasy. At 5pm the smoke stops and the men exit the building in single file. They are lesser somehow, thinner, as though some small part of them has been consumed and will not be given back.