People with colored hair play their instruments on the sidewalk. Neon lights pulse and radiate from the buildings around us, stacked like pillars, forming a wall where whatever is beyond cannot be seen. There is a sound of music; a bass, a guitar, drums, that are muffled by the chatter which surrounds the musicians; the musicians themselves are not great.

A cloud of smoke rises above the scene. It’s difficult to breathe. More people with colored hair arrive, and they pull needles and spoons from their bags. It reeks of smoke and liquor. The noise that is supposed to resemble music continues emanating from the center of the crowd.

Shattered bottles, beer cans, needles, abandoned shoelaces, trash— these thing lay abundantly on the sidewalk.