Railing Codex

If you write about edges in Los Angeles, you’ll find canyons, obscurity, abandon, tectonic plates.
In New York, the edge is an expensive thrill atop the corrupt development of Hudson Yards.
If you look over an edge in Los Angeles, you’ll see ocean, you’ll see vacancy, you’ll see flowers.
In New York, you see a barrier from peril, a dimly lit cigarette, someone walking up from a basement.
If you edge with someone in Los Angeles, you’re sweating in dry heat, wet from the pool among other pleasures.
In New York, you’re sweating because there are a million other things that take less time.
If you edge toward something in Los Angeles, it’s slow, gradual, and then suddenly it’s all there.
In New York, you’ve always already grasped it.