I am sustained by the relentless cruelty of the City.
Ten million iron claws pierce the ground to rake the sky
As I am pushed out of my twentieth-story walkup
Into the subterranean sandworm I ride from the G to the L to the 123 to the—
Fucking hell, that was one or two wrong turns.
Inconsequential.
The man sitting across from me in the boardroom is wearing my parents combined income on his wrist
And dangling 10,000 jobs on his iPad,
but saving them would mean giving up an 8pm res at Dorsia (imo overhyped these days).
The afterparty has a bartender who only serves Schedule 1 substances.
Please don't ask for "coke", that's like asking a sommelier for "fermented red grapes"
and you'll embarrass both of us.
Getting out of the car home, I get lost between the curb and my door
And end up wandering a construction site on the seedy section of my block.
The sewer rats here are larger than I remember,
but a neon-lit shadow can really akhhdjsjshdhdjjshshdhdsjshhdhd
Four hours of sleep?
Alas that I chose a career that requires my whole prefrontal cortex.
Probably better for everyone if I give up now.
But I can feel Metropolis calling to me.
The slender fingers blot the sun and crawl through my window
and pull me from my crypt and push me out the door and remind me that—