They are the people who feel city life differently, the sane ones in the asylum.
They have no barriers or restraints, because they are able to find escapes in the big grey box: walls are just a way to have fun jumping over.
They live not to imitate but to conquer. To feel life, not to see it pass between their fingers.
They are not in the same frequency as others. Their steps are music, embodied by the personification of attitude itself. The city itself rejoices to that symphony.
Although the shapes of the city might change, these misfits evolve on their own away, far from the body that hosts them. They are passengers, social gypsies that never stop wandering our cities. The ones who produce change.
They are the ones who set the tendencies.
They are the ones who wear Jack Morgan.