Lara was only half tuned into Sidney's digression on his theory of cementia as she nibbled on her Moons Over My Hammy sandwich. "Imagine," Sidney said, as he downed his fourth half & half mini creamer cup, "the collective toll all this cement is having on the human psyche, the human soul. It makes me sick. This vast, endless, lifeless ocean of grey everywhere you go--driveways, roadways, highways, strip mall parking lots, airport runways. That is not nature's palette. It's not, I tell you. Okay, there are some rocks in the world, sure. Here and there, some rocks. But not like this. Do you see what I mean? What do you think causes all this anxiety and depression and…" The waitress cut in. "Are you going to order any food?"
Root = cement + dementia
