As the discombobulated juggernaut that is Gen Z pitches headfirst into a predictably dire future, the yearning to protest and indulge anarchic impulses increases, with violent altercations on the streets a common spectacle.
Fire breathing activists sing defiant alarums to the fraught aether, seeking blood and more blood — angry hordes so maddened and so latent with angst that the sky is in fact likely to cave in. Behold the spooky death spiral that is 2025.
Pangs of dismay in the witnessing of such barefaced discontent is liable to prompt new trips to the pharmacy for replienished stocks of valium, knowing already, before stepping in the car, that numbing the pain won't work.
This mix is a simulated wander through the eerie streets, after the protesters have dwindled from their berserk apex, as the lonely city stands caked in debris and the shredded placards declaring what should be done, or who should be pilloried for their crimes.
