Gutterstars are the lost and lonely living beneath the skylight canopy of apopleptic window dwellers shaking fists and dropping unintentional leaflets out upon them telling them to join their ranks in the skyscraping pursuits and business of suits. That their bike message-ry and unkempt presentery incidentally occurs to them as an anarchistic representation of days gone by, by, by and they’ll try to run them down just as they cannot turn back or push them aside, without the force of unfeeling elephant hide.
They are the cyberpunks who never got rich, and whose bubbles never got blown enough to burst, and so the punk resounds in ways that technology cannot diseffect. and the stars that seem so far above are really just a distant way to look away, and not so much look down as dirtily reflect.
Not to disrespect, but if the rising comes from gutters it’s not a flood, its sewage coming back up, but if the rain is hard enough, the buildings still will crumble… leaving more… than bits of dust.