Dangling from the urban development frequency, our hands held out across an expensive skyline, empty in its infancy. A ponytailed HR agent spreads her fingers across the keyboard: ‘In the erecting of the planets, the lines are drawn out, the heads being posited according to their course and nature among themselves’. She microwaves a scotch egg. ‘The celestial souls send forth their virtues to the celestial bodies, which transmit them to this sensible world; for the virtues of the terrene orb proceed from no other cause than celestial’. Read more on Last.fm