[ WP ] In this world , pure human emotion can be distilled into music . The government has been using this for decades to control the wildly overpopulated Earth , until one day , a man finds a set of cassette tapes in a dumpster .

The walkman slipped from Frank's hand. With a brief tug from his ears, his mind snapped back to his reality again. The colors of his life were still there; the eternal foundation to his canvas. But new layers had embellished it with distinct and subtle majesty. 
 
'What is it that I feel?' He wondered, before he startled and frightingly searched the ground. On the cold concrete that old walkman lied dormant. But to his relief, it was unbroken. 
 
 With a gladdened sigh he picked it back up, so he could cherish the relic in his hands. It was a thing of the past. Innefficient. Unrational to preserve. 
 
 `` The only way to go forward is to move.'' 
 
 The lyrics popped in his head. He was humming it less than three hours ago. But now it felt so uninspired it had become dirty. Disgusting. A melody, not even a song, that should've long been drowned out by the beauty he just heard. But never had. And if it was n't for chance, might never have. 
 
 Was this the crime? The item that had led the police to raid and condemn that house. How could the cleaning crew just throw it in the garbage? If it was evil, and infectious, as evil tends to be, how could they just carelessly throw it out? 
 
 `` Do n't look for evil. Because when you find it, you ca n't stay good.'' 
 
 Another pitiful limerick that does n't rhyme and will never aspire to another emotion than fear. But there it was. In his head. Perfectly designed to stay stuck as long as possible. 
 
 Frank had to drown it out. He put the headphones back on. 
 
 His opened eyes started to wetten again 
 
 After three more songs, he was dead-tired. He tore the headphones off his head. Not because he wanted to, quite the opposite. He just could n't handle another second of this. The past half hour or so had been more eye-opening than the 30 years that he had lived. 
 
 He stood up from the concrete. His ass was numb and his legs were tired, but he did n't really care. Before, he was n't sure why he walked away from the street and hid in this old construction site to listen to the cassette tapes. All of a sudden he understood it was because he did n't really belong on the street. He used to think he did, even though he was an outcast. Unemployed after being fired because the company found someone better, and therefore useless. A bum. Having to find his livelihood in other people's dumpsters. 
 
 He put the walkman in the left pocket of his jacket. He froze the second he let go of it, and tightened his grip around the headphone cables. Of course the walkman would n't stay in his ragged coat. He did n't think of it. But now that he did, he wondered why he wore the coat in the first place. 
 
'Am I worth no more than rags?' He wondered while one of his eyebrows lifted. He used to think it was natural because he'd lost his job. But suddenly he wondered how that made him a human being. 
 
 In memory of a piece of the beauty he'd just bared, his fists began to shake angrily. 
 
 `` Here is a fruit, for the crooows to pluck.'' 
 
 `` Fuck!'' He shouted into his hand. He was too close to the street. He had to shake the grief off, and futily tried to do so by shaking his head. 
 
 Frank took a deep breath. His anger subsided by just one look at the walkman. He would be forever grateful to have come upon this solace. 
 
 He filled the few pockets in his jacket that were still effectively stitched with the walkman and as much cassette tapes as he was able to carry on him. 
 
 He had to go home. And for a mere second, the thought of braving the street was too much for him. He knew he could now be considered a criminal in thought, and so, could be torn from the steel faces in the street. But with a hint of a smile he realized: `` Well we all have a face, that we hide away forever.'' 
 
 Frank let the newfound silk and satin his face had adorned be transformed back to steel. 
 
 He went home, where he found his wife sitting exactly where he thought she would be. She was knitting her livelihood on her hard little wooden stool. 
 
 At the sight of his empty hands, her eyes began to fire up with spite. But they softened immediately when she noticed the look on his face. 
 
 `` I do n't care things are n't perfect.'' He quickly blurted out before she got the chance come up with accusations. `` I'm happy and I love you. I want us to have a baby.''
