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61 West Side Highway (Meditation) This evening New York looks how it always looks in photos except more flawed, like someone picked it up and didn’t put it back the way they found it. This far west the buildings could slip into the Hudson, and who would miss them, miss me? This far west it’s all construction, someone’s good idea, each high-rise becomes another high-rise stacked against the soon-to-be-black sky. Twilight’s only bearable in the city, lights making something different than daylight, little lies saying, you’re not really alone. This is the life we asked for, and it’s everything we expected. There’s nowhere else so light and dark at the same time. Because there’s nowhere to go when we die, our lives really can be summed up by so many buildings between two rivers, and because they’re unfinished, the sky behind glows pink and gray inside them. ...

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