The ground floor of the skyscraper is

thrown into confusion as

a cloud of cacophony descends on

a gathering cloud of men in

sleek suit and silk tie, all

spread around in different directions,

piercing the serenity of the corporate street.

They needle their way to a spot where

an older woman and a younger woman sit,

dishing stuff into the waiting hands of

these men that beat themselves to get their share.

The fuming CEO of the skyscraper, perplexed

by the noise, comes down,

bent on clearing the human mess, and

then he too falls into the trap of the mad crowd.

They all have to scramble for

the periwinkle soup from

the makeshift storefront.

 

 

 

Written from the text prompt of Hour 11.