Dusk, and everybody’s out on their stoop enjoying the cool breeze. A crowd of people, doorman included, are cooing over a small dog. The lady at the deli counter comes out to ooh and ahh over my leg tattoo.
A lot of people hate this city, but I’m not one of ’em. There’s an energy you could power a fucking mission to Mars with in the air when you pack that many lives together in a small space. Everything thrums like a violin string.

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