This is a wall of wild space, reformed; the rest shoves up against it, not civilization, not civil, no, just all this stuff we've made, with its indecent noise and low orange fog, the lights and metal and road and brick, the vinyl and plastic, the plumbing of mankind... This, this is green in wintertime and golden in the summer, and I like it, I wish I lived here, but I would have to give up everything, my clothes, my angst, my tendency toward the horizontal. Also, they won't let you in at night, and during the week you need a permit.