Guards used to stand tall. United parts and parcels. Now they tell you to take off your belt. 
The impression building is that every move serves an Euclidian purpose. Then. A higher purpose according to religionists, in a word, a metonym for dizziness everywhere according to boundless practitioners. Their approach, heading toward final devastation, collapses under its own glare into supernumerary states of emotion and minor readjustments on an international scale of anxiety equal to the light of your body. Then. Every dancer stops for a moment, and I feel better.