i breathe the living cologne of an insomniac city
it carries the smell of forward, success and change
the constant shuffle to and fro between the concrete and iron castles
the spires of wealth and golden markets, flowing with wealth
the taste of risk and culture permeates the air
the food, the sound, the sights to see, all bound up in the stories of millions
lonely, yet never alone
looking out upon an orange setting sun and seeing the little lights flicker on like Christmas trees
it certainly isn't all of it, but it says something all it's own
