The machine had plenty of time. Many hours would pass before the Master of Metropolis, before Joh Fredersen would tear the food which his machines were chewing up from the teeth of his mighty machines.
Quite softly, almost smilingly, the gleaming eye, the malicious eye, of the delicate machine looked down upon Joh Fredersen’s son, who was standing before it....
Georgi had left the New Tower of Babel unchallenged, through various doors and the city received him, the great Metropolis which swayed in the dance of light and which was a dancer.
He stood in the street, drinking in the drunken air. He felt white silk on his body. On his feet he felt shoes which were soft and supple. He breathed deeply and the fullness of his own breath filled him with the most high intoxicating intoxication.
He saw a city which he had never seen. He saw it as a man he had never been. He did not walk in a stream of others: a stream twelve files deep.... He wore no blue linen, no hard shoes, no cap. He was not going to work. Work was put away, another man was doing his work for him.
A man had come to him and had said: “We shall now exchange lives, Georgi; you take mine and I your’s....”
“When you reach the street, take a car.”
“You will find more than enough money in my pockets....”
“You will find more than enough money in my pockets....”
“You will find more than enough money in my pockets....”