There are people living in other people's basements. And then, there are people living a hundred feet above the street. There is just too much light flashing past doors and windows, too many screeches and yells. Orange globes float over the sidewalk. A man and a woman walk together.

"How did we meet again? Tell me the story."
"Not now."
"Just tell me."

In every room, a television broadcasting. If I could ask, would everyone in this city report in with me? Something brief. Not just friends and family. The whole city. I want someone to clock in right about now.