It is a dark and windy place, with reviews and rants,
raves and recommendations, work and madness..
words float along, conjured up and tossed away, like smoke and stray eyelashes.
night stretches like ebony-hued spandex, lurid and taut over superhero muscles..
voices — all-knowing women’s voices — chime up, omniscient noir-narrators
tell the story of this land, grimy and beat up and brilliant and, oh, so pretty.
it is a land of ego and eccentricity and desire and despotism; they call it Sen City.
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