Iguana.

The ecstasy of artificial light. The beams that ricochet of the rims of brown and green glass and scrape off earrings and fly off teeth that grin like walls. You look into other eyes and find, to enhance your mounting euphoria, that these wet, dripping eyes see you the way you want to be seen.

Why should we sleep when we can dream here?

Above us the sky circles, insignificant and uncaring. We are as irrelevant to the universe as the universe is to us.

Tonight we stand on the broken bones of a thousand poor men. We built this city where they fell. We never meant them any ill. But we never meant them well.