A view seen from a tall building in NYC

New York from a height is a city reduced to its stains a Jackson Pollock of rust, pigeon gray, and the faded denim of a thousand air-conditioning units. The rooftops are a scabbed palette of tar and forgotten red, the kind of red that started as a fire truck and ended as a cough drop. Below, the streets run like veins of dirty silver, pulsing with yellow cabs and the occasional, optimistic flash of a tourist’s pink umbrella. The East river is the color of a bad decision,  and the buildings reflect nothing but more glass buildings, endlessly, like a narcissist’s Instagram feed. It’s beautiful, if you like your beauty with a side of existential dread then every color is an allegory of life