Every sidewalk sparkles. Under all the tar and gum and dirt and grime, it sparkles. Deep in the cement, there are small flecks that seem to shimmer, like the heart of the city itself. With every step into the smoggy cold air, I love this city.
At night, I stare out the window. The sky is a sickly grey, lit by the waste below. As I drift off, the blinking lights in the skyline of the people that never sleep all start to look like little stars, and sleep takes me to fuzzy memories of a different sky, with different stars.
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