the god of the city wanders between skyscrapers, buildings aging by decades under its gaze, a dozen street signs sprouting from its head
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as the smog lifts, you briefly spot it three blocks away
it looks at you and you smell spilled gasoline, hear the rumble of the subway
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the god of the city sleeps in a scrapyard, feral cars are its herd, graffiti overgrows the walls it passes like moss
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