some nights you have to embrace the close-quarter chaotic rumbling mouth-hot chatterbox echo overlapping grit gold neon flashing subterranean hollows of new york.
its embrace is a slightly uncomfortable alluring and confusing one, but what variety. what distinction and electricity.
the successful navigation through the multitudes of long faces and loud contortions both invigorates and restores. it becomes a rite and method of passage.
and at times you find yourself flush with a wide beam of spreading elation, traveling like the tributaries of lightning throughout your entirety.