Found in the cuts

The Sun was shining, yet that was not enough to quench the desperation that emanated from his left eye; the bluest eye. The other, a watery grey and a deep brown on Sundays, was rarely paid the attention it deserved. it was at that eye that the man at the liquor store stared. It was that left blue eye that prevented the checkout girl from smiling. That eye held the power of his soul and the pain of his existence.

Often admired for his shrewd judgment and unique perception, he gained many allies in cut building the city. He was accepted as one of the guys, though the cut of his jib set him apart from the standard. In that eye no individual could transcend his or her use-value. He optimized his relations and kept the neighbors at a distance. Pulled taut by the confinement of his solitude, he rebelled against the adequacy of suburban life. He worked late at the corner office.

Words rolled skillfully from his teeth, forming dreams for the lost. Worlds of illusion supported by the belief in salvation: salvation through consumption. If the price is right the dream can be realized. "You too can be happy!", and you believe him, mesmerized by the gleam in his eye, the rhythm of his rap and the cut of his jib.