Where oiled machines once crouched, muttering and grinding implacably along, new beings[2] now congregate in silent communion: gathered in dimly illuminated corners, their faces turned upwards to the flickering solaris. Mickey Mouse -- or, at least, a plastic facimile thereof -- is here, human-sized and cheerfully vacant eyed. Ronald McDonald[3] sits on a wooden bench, his injection-molded face fixed in it's familiar, eternal grin. They number in the dozens; the fading icons of commercial success.