One part persons, four parts machines, seventeen parts brick mortar and steel. A dash of feral critters. A touch of smart devices. Garnish with wires and radio waves.
Our city creature is a strange tangle.
Sun rise; her persons sift into machines and flush into town, windshields tinkling; her buildings absorb them. Breath, mon amour.
Her roots throb with garbage. An exchange of resources.
What is it you want from us? We give you everything.
Sun down; trickle back to our homes.
