Progress

The sun has gone down hours ago, and I'm outside. Strung around the lake like a necklace are little lights, in red, purple, pink, yellow. I stare for a moment at these lights, and at the skyline. Builings all around, glimmering like stars. But then I look up at the sky. The night is clear, yet there are almost no stars to be found. Some might say we captured them and brought them to earth, scattered around the lake and buildings. I'm less poetic. I think we've spent the stars, we bartered them away to buy ourselves those builings, that twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five grid of power, water, electricity. I guess it was worth it, but still, on a clear night, look up. Where'd they all go?