I am a cloud floating in the sky, and the sky is stored inside a jar

I am a cloud floating in the sky, and the sky is contained within a jar. Each day, a part of me drizzles on dirt puddles, metal fences, and monoliths made of glass. Sometimes I knock on the heads of people, who are nailed to benches or gliding over coiling streets. On a damp, drizzly July day, no one bothers to look up. And there I go—from pipelines, drainages and sewages—to the open sea. Then, I find myself rocking on a train that slithers through the darkest part of the city. A man stands before me, a puffy existence in my nose. He does not have a face, like other passengers. Nine thousand seven hundred and fourteen days have passed since I began this journey, and my eyes are becoming hazy. I must do something to stay awake. As I read the man's posh gray checkered shirt, I see: cell1, cell2, cell3, cell4, cell5, ...