What makes a city?
Is it the cracks traversing its roads, our human wanderlust rendering a city cripple?
Is it the tunnels lined with darkness, like coffins, reminding us of our destiny back to the dirt?
Is it the cacophony of human desires, splashed onto billboards and bedsheets, spilling out into streets?
I breathe it all in, letting in particles of you, you, and yes, even you.
What makes a city? There is a strange comfort to this suffocation, a warmth to this blanket of shared struggle, this smog of excrement, this mosaic of pain.