The junkies are injecting their rust, cardboard complex, bullet casings and Islam, spit and vomit, the scrambled brains on the sidewalks, the chewing gum metropolis of New York City, the greasy, bloated and black rats run in wild hordes by the millions, their underground lairs full of rat babies and discarded chicken wing bones, they rule the day like terrorists and their coordinated suicide bombings, a Pakistani mosque obliterated, the permanent, baleful expressions and heavy, bearded clouds and billowing plumes of ugly smoke, the insane stagger outside with flaps of skin hanging and half torn from their faces, blood-stained man-dresses, excessive studying and writing theology, arms and legs strewn about like slow-melted pool noodles, a decapitated head in a bowl, the cruel sunshine illuminating their faces is almost beautiful.