The Neon Sign at the End of the World
## Act I: The Yellow Cab of the Apocalypse I’m driving a Crown Vic through a version of Manhattan that’s currently having a nervous breakdown. The streetlights are humming in B-flat, the asphalt is occasionally turning into liquid mercury, and the pigeons have started speaking in binary. My name is Leo, and I’m a taxi driver. I’m also the only person in this city who seems to realize that the...
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