The cemeteries of tomorrow are no place for the living.
His lover locked in a private prison, one man attempts to use the language of music to bridge past and future—and help a corrupted, mechanized city remember what life was supposed to be.
You don't get a second chance to make first contact.
She never knew what it was, exactly, whether her copper skin or long black braid or some inflection in her voice that was not sufficiently deferential. And soon they'd be gliding through the nuclear desert.