Walk here at night, rose from the ashes cat-like, pad fragrant backstreets hear yourself breathe. The black velvet laps at buildings watching, as if in water pools soft edged in the mercury lights, they have eyes. Walk hear. How it can be better not ask, unlikely feeling of freedom, a timber yard, liquor store, small factory fronting people’s houses life carries on behind. Hope. Walk on. Potted plants and goldfish tanks and a five way intersection, this billowing expanse of asphalt. It’s an arrogance this ink carpet, and yet benign presence, organic inevitability as if it were just a field, would not come as it did from the people, and they made this.