The Void's Compassion
Los Angeles is a city that consumes its own history, leaving only a shimmering residue of neon and grime. The rain here doesn't wash away the sins; it only makes them more visible, turning the asphalt into a mirror that reflects a fractured sky. I have spent my life navigating this chromatic hemorrhage, where the electric violets and sulfurous yellows of the signage bleed into the gutters, a...
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