From my own novel.
Because in the City, you know there is nothing else, it is a place without roads, without real people, without life. Just an abandoned wreck; desolate; isolated; unloved. Somewhere you go when there is no more life inside of you, when you have no choice, no . . . desire, no personality. It’s a place where you go to die, and after you’re dead, your body is left to rot, and get blown by the wind into nothing, and there is no heaven, no hell, just earth and dust, and insects crawling over your bleached bones . . . it’s bliss.
