Fixed Cross was wandering across the deserted morning forum, kicking up some gravel and acting like a child, at least in his movements. In his minds heart he was searching for a way to begin a conversation, with Thrasymachus, his who was bound to arrive soon, about that philosophers theory, which he had kept close to his chest for years. Fixed Cross now felt the desire to set the theory free from his friends mind, and allow it to swoop across the Earths skies to impress humans of all quarters.
Pondering for a way to tempt Thrasymachus to spill his guts, to show the back of his tongue, Fixed Cross then saw his friend enter the forum-floor, which was still wet with dew, of which hovered a film of half condensing, half evaporating above the polished rocks of the plateau. And as the men walked toward one another, a strange question dawned on Fixed Cross, of which he himself did not divine the meaning. As he finally shook his friends hand and greeted him, he asked him the following:
I wonder, if you look at the sky above us, infinitely rich with light, but dense also with dark particles that can steal the light for themselves and form black and cold formations, do you see anything to do with truth?
" The strong do what they can do and the weak accept what they have to accept. "