The grey-tailed white cat sat purring on the kitchen mat when the 23-year-old writer for "Nobody Gives a Shit Magazine" brisk walked to the fridge and opened the bag of sliced bread.

A lonely girl sits in front of her apartment, weeping

The caterpillar transforms into a butterfly

Another heart, miles away, breaking

The market carries a heaviness in it that one cannot tell very easily, just by being there, unless you have been told, or are acutely observant of such things, and capable of detecting the energy imbalance when it manifests.