She reminds me of New York city. Where light and air do not pass through the outer buildings. A self-sufficient dome. An insomniac island comprised of loopholes. A corner building is where she lives. One of thousands of other identical ones. Her apartment has two windows which look out onto said corner. Out of one is a red neon light, and out of the other is a green one. They flicker depending on her mood. Lighting up as she walks through the apartment door. A glass table sits in the middle of the living room. Identical white boxes are littered across the table. Some are open and some are closed. Some stand upright and some lay on their side. Chinese food. The city’s ritualistic sacrifice. Spring rolls replace Hail Marys, and Moo Goo Gai Pan sends you the confessional. She sits at her computer at night making playlists. Tonight feels different though. She sits there rolling a bottle of beer between her palms. Dried mascara streaks are temporary scars on her porcelain cheeks. She looks up. The green light is flickering.