Excerpt:
They met between buildings that leaned like ideas after midnight.

H2: Dialogue in Neon

Left Pig: I smell architecture.
Right Pig: I taste confusion.
Left Pig: Are we art or accident?
Right Pig: Yes.

Behind them, windows gossip in yellow.
The air hums in violet minor.
Every color here has opinions —
and none of them agree.

Ich bin Schwein auf Asphalt,
du bist Schwein im Gedanke.
Together we form the Oinkscape.

H3: City of Snouts

Traffic light: green.
Philosophy: blinking.
A building sneezes geometry into the night.
Our reflections get lost in puddles of perspective.
Somewhere, a horn oinks.
This is not chaos — it’s choreography.

H2: Pig Manifesto No. 7 — Metropolis Edition

We declare:

• The sidewalk shall be a poem.
• Bacon is banned; banality too.
• Color is public transport for the soul.
• Every shadow deserves a second draft.

We sign it in mud and pastel.
That’s our kind of bureaucracy.

H3: Abschlussoink in Electric Blue

When morning comes,
we’ll fade into memory’s sketchbook —
half line, half laugh.
But tonight,
we dance in contradiction.
And the city, dazzled,
learns to snort in rhythm.