A few hours remained until sunset, though time is never enough in the city. Even the quality of sunlight was alien, defused in the reflection of monoliths that would outshine primitive idols.

I wanted to love the city. There is an electricity to the dullest day here that overpowers its clinging aroma. Friends have moved cityward, rarely seen again, each acting as though they relocated to Shangri-La, despite muggings and struggling.

Cities pour forth a virus. Humans are infected and told to build cages that no one should want to live in. Or cities are a pyramid scheme: everyone is supposed to be there, I am an everybody, so I will move there and bring two others, who will bring two more.

It is no surprise this is the reputed to be the greatest city in the world. It is a blob of brick and neon connected by the arterial subway, equal parts fear and wonder. It breathes, more robotic than organic, but alive.