Flashback: The rust belt, the industrial wasteland. Dystopia, personified. These are the places we avoid, the places we have forgotten.
The summer wind blows hot through the streets. Her platinum blonde hair covers one eye, tumbles down over one shoulder. A bare thigh is visible through a carefully arranged coverup. She steps over fallen bricks, a barricade, her heels crushing bits of glass. Less fortunate ones run away, or stare in envy.
This was a prosperous place once. Now it lies in stasis, wallowing in cynicism. The future was a long time ago. The dreams once so commonplace, they're someone else's dreams now. And those dreams too will one day end in futility. It's a different kind of dream that will triumph, but it's a dream that hasn't been dreamed yet.