Except from The Edge of Darkness
I passed by the rows of apartments—spaced so precisely to pack as many into as little a space as possible. The building was like a sluggish, uncoordinated beehive filled with human detritus. My children had always wanted me to move into my own house in the suburbs, but I’d never budged. I’ve always been magnetically drawn to the city. The bodies in this building nourish my soul. The feculent stench of an alley gutter to me is finer than the scent of freshly cut roses. My pulse bounds to the tune of the freeway as it bumps and beeps and bends to no one. The city is my home and I—its silent sentinel—have been built to cherish and protect it.
Love the excerpt above? Request the full version from the author by submitting the form below.