Eli had been stomping around this city since he took his first step. After nearly thirty years, he knew every eyebrow-raising street name in the city—and how to pronounce them without hesitation. Schermerhorn Street and Fingerboard Road were among his favorites, if only for the way they tripped up newcomers. He could point you to the dive bars slinging five-dollar drinks, the subway entrances the tourists hadn’t found yet—the ones you used when you needed to disappear. He knew which indie cinemas still ran midnight films on scratched-up reels, and what kind of people showed up for them.

When Eli told people he lived in _the city_, their eyes always lit up—like they were picturing neon lights, rooftop parties, and some fantasy skyline. He’d shut that down quick. It wasn’t the city he gave a damn about. It wasn’t the skyscrapers, the trailblazing food scene, or the late-night art shows trying too hard to mean something. What mattered—always—was the people.

Once, on a gloomy, rainy morning, Eli nearly clipped a pedestrian who darted across a red light in the middle of a packed intersection. The guy smacked the hood of his car and shouted, “You’re going too fast, idiot!”

Eli leaned out the window and snapped back, “You didn’t have the damn light, dummy.”

They were both half-right, both half-wrong—and they knew it. For a split second, their eyes met. No apology, no rage. Just a look that said, _Yeah, I see you. _

That moment had cut through the smog of Eli’s grey day—a sharp, unfiltered flicker of connection with a stranger, the kind of raw city encounter he’d come to depend on. These brief collisions had carved him into who he was, made him appreciate his own frictions.

He could curse someone out in the filthiest street slang, then turn around and ask if they wanted to grab a drink. He lived for the rambling confessions of people he’d just met but had little patience for his friends’ self-pity. He rolled his eyes at the crowds of tourists, but he’d still mutter a warning about pickpockets as he passed them by.

The people in this city had taught him early: you’re never just one version of yourself. You’re a whole crew, taking turns behind the wheel. What looks like contradiction from the outside? That’s just a shift change. One part of you clocks out, another clocks in—no questions asked. That’s life here. Welcome to the city.