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ArtistA chorus line of pigeons, wearing tutus fashioned from discarded pizza boxes, pirouetted gracefully across the greasy asphalt of the deserted marketplace. High above, the chrome and glass towers of the cityscape shimmered like misplaced disco balls, reflecting the nonsensical chirping of the pigeons back down to the street. A lone hot dog vendor, his face painted in a bizarre pattern of ketchup and mustard, watched in bewildered fascination, his dreams of selling chili dogs that day evaporating faster than a raindrop on a frying pan.