We’ve said that world capitals are neighborhoods of the same city center, a blisteringly conscious, dynamic, unpredictable stack of lifestyles and density of patterns. You’ve met city addicts no doubt, or you are one, and the rush of living and swarm of sensations is what keeps you trying the next one, and the next, and the next. You have favorites, of course, but you’re after novelty, variation, quantity of possibility, and the jolt of surprise. You consume air travel like diet soda, satiated and thirsty, and you accumulate cities like rooms in your house to which you keep going back.
It’s the plurality of instances, the challenge to limits, the feeling of “not anywhere, but just in the moment” in which we smear our face, smother our body, and suck down as fast as the next Crush swells, familiar, tingling, and bottomless.