Awake.

It’s easy to see how people would get the impression that this is a cold city.  Most of us have come here looking for a new start, with some vague idea of freedom and the hope that this environment will prove hospitable for personal growth.  We come here to build ourselves the way we want to be.

The shipping yard keeping me awake these nights is full of boxes. Neatly stacked and unceasingly shuffled around. I know that they come and go.  New boxes are always coming in and old ones are always leaving. I know that there are different things in each of the boxes, with different stories and purpose and destinations.  I know these things, and yet the yard always looks the same. The busywork of insect society; a crawling, shifting honeycomb of boxes.

In the middle of the night, there’s no mystery or depth here. Just packages. Little boxes. Consumable units.

This will be a story of consumption.