The neon lights of the marquee flicker in tandem to illuminate the dusky street. I live here, in the cordoned off section called Radio City. Yes, Manhattan redistricted, rezoned and stitched back up to divide those who have from those who don’t.

A Frankencity.

See, you think you got me all figured out. Taped sneakers, sutured bag. Everyone assumes, but you don’t know me. I follow the sun, avoiding the shadows. I am a member of the resistance against those who lurk in the dark. Vultures, vampires, night crawlers that suck the blood of the innocent to feed their rich children. They live in high rises soaring above the wasteland of the new Manhattan. Their identities marked by an X in their forehead, their skin tattooed with codes. They are walking algorithms, having lost their humanity a long time ago.

The insurgence is coming. Behind me there are hundreds. The night is coming. We are ready.