Experiences and perspectives converge at this apex of consciousness where unlikely characters agree to neighborly proximity.
Palms and evergreens conspire in corners of tucked away earth situated between precariously stacked buildings
and every expanse of surface jockeys for impact, imprinting esoteric musings with the blunt force of color writhing and contorting into lasciviously hallucinogenic wall-scapes.
Herds of wandering tour zombies, spellbound by the technicolor Oz-quality of their surroundings, spill into oncoming traffic with arms outstretched and cameras pointed while queues stack up for passage through the bottlenecks of wannabe Instagram heroes.
Seagulls, the balcony hecklers of all sea-town dramas, laugh their critiques with the cackles of mad hatters in jarring contrast to the saxy sounds of Coltrane reverberating from the depths of a café canyon.
From his perch, the ghost of the poet keeps watch over all.