This is what you look like when you sleep. Brooklyn knows. We see you disappear into the fog and the mist of all mythical places. At 3 o'clock in the morning Brooklyn is still here. We listen to the horns of passing ships on the East River, the hum of occasional planes overhead. But you Manhattan, have taken off your wigs, your lashes, your fine clothes, your jewels and have joined the ranks of Atlantis, Lemuria, and Mu. You exist only in your own dreams and nightmares.
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