This is our town. We know, because no other town in the known Universe would offer so little of its citizens, yet receive so much in return. Its valleys dip and swell, as if it deserved such topographical gifts of diversity. And, speaking of diversity, this town is also blessed with a certain magical version of such, betwixt the harsh reality. Yet, the spirit cries out constantly, like the sirens. The fucking spirit snarls like the dogs. It's breaking apart, in secret, under our ever-gentrified feet. The levee sheds its skin, like some ancient Serpent God. And, the lanterns are lit in supplication, down the lane. In the south, the dragon blows through both nostrils, and the breath carries all the way to Albuquerque.
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