Cylindrical

The black man looked again and saw their heads. Like giant soda cans, the people on the street all carried heads that looked cylindrical.

No one looked like him. Everyone looked silvery and taller, even more than his six-foot-two inch frame. He looked at his luxury watch. The hands spun around backward.

He continued down the street and soaked up the scenery. The cylinder heads held within them dimension and color and freedom.

Each individual continued in their ways as if nothing was different. The black man walked until he saw his cylindrical head in the mirror. He just laughed.