Josiah Bancroft

A poet is just a tramp with a thesaurus,”

Those who wished to enter the ringdom were required to disrobe, a fact that discouraged most visitors from exploring the City of Windows.

Each terrace they crossed was much like the first: a confusion of possessions and footprints, both muddy and gory. Occasionally, they’d come to a taller structure that required them to enter and leave by a window or balconette. Passing through the bedrooms of strange homes and the private lofts above shops gave Edith the unpleasant feeling of being a prowler, a sensation that was hardly improved when Reddleman pulled a pair of electric candles from his pack, one of which he lit himself, before giving the other to Iren. The devices cast a yellow beam of light that made the private scenes they tramped through feel like spotlighted stages in a playhouse.

She landed on a tilting cabinet that pitched forward, vomiting fine china into the crumbling world.