They say a picture is worth a thousand words, we'll give you 500. Half a Picture.

The City breathes, exhales and tremors. It is a new day, and the City is smiling.

Coursing through its veins and arteries, its streets and alleys, people, cars, children. In the dark depths, the passages below, trains rumble to and fro, conveying the lifeblood of the City from destination to destination. They move and travel through the City, transitioning life from one place to the next. They call it ‘bustle’ but the City calls it ‘air’, it calls it ‘nutrition’.

Deals are made, hands shook. Contracts are signed, as are receipts. Purchases committed. Cakes are baked, dishes served. In a small shop on a street corner a woman tried on a new pair of shoes. Such is the existence in the city and such is the existence of the City. It feels everything, every turn of the merry-go-round and every sip of warm coffee.

The City is content and the glass windows shimmer. The trees in the park seem to shine with greenness. The people of the City, the very molecules of its existence, are happy too. There is an extra helping of ‘good morning’s and ‘have a nice one’s.

Night Falls.

This is the other city. This is the darkness, the creeping blackness of the city. This is the thumping base of the nightclub. The dancers entranced, under the influence of alcohol and other substances. The smiles don’t come out at night, they are replaced by grins of ecstasy. The cheerful bustle has given way to the slinking writhing of those who shun the day. They, too, are the life of the city. They are the counterbalance. The shadow which must always follow in the light.

They kill, they lie. They deface and they seduce. They rip and howl. They are children just the same. The City takes them. They are necessary. These are the vaccines, produced from the very disease which they set to cure. They exist in the shadows so that the light shines ever brightly.

This is the City. We are the City. The City is us.