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.