Nowhere

The city has a name, just like all the human cities have.

But the people don't use it, and the new generation will most likely grow up never hearing the name and so it will be forgotten. If people call the city with a name they say "Nowhere", and this name is said with hushed voices, like a name of a lover. 

The city is like a woman; lover and mother to us all. Her hair raises in the sky like a brown and dark grey smoke, her thousand eyes look at her children from the lit as well as dark windows of the buildings, she is dressed in the dress like the shadows in the alleys and dead ends, and her mind is fast and restless like the people who live in the arms of her streets. She hides knifes in the pockets of her children and guns under their pillows. She wears jewels like the neon lights, and she sings for you with never ending voice of the sirens, barking of the fighting dogs, music from the bars, the screams of women, shouts of the men, the laughter of the children and the sound of the gunshot from few blocks away.

The city is a reckless and a cruel lover; full of wits of the moment. She'll seduce you with the whispered voices of the whores in the street corners, the hushed words with the courtesan behind the glass. She'll make you drunk with the wink from the dealer in the game board, bewitch you with things you can't find, ("but we happen to have one of those"), showing you the secret parts she hides, like women hides their breasts; all those shady bars, clubs and shops where you can buy anything your heart desires. She will favor you in one moment, give you fame and money and women, and toss your dead body in the dark alley in next. She will kill your family and friends, and then give you your revenge in a silver plate.

But the city is mother to all. She opens her arms for the foreigners as well as for the native ones, her shadowy alleys give a hide for her children, and she will lead the rich people lost in her streets, complex like the mind of a woman; and this way she will feed her children.

People who lives in these streets; in her arms, love her and curse her name. They dream their dreams here and they bleed their blood in these streets.

Many of them have born here.

But every one of them dies here.