In The Big City A Man Will

He Seemed To Be Made Of Sunshine And Blood-red Tissue And Clear Weather.

She Had Become So Thoroughly Annealed Into His Life That She Was Like The Air He Breathed--necessary But Scarcely Noticed.

I Wanted To Paint A Picture Some Day That People Would Stand Before And Forget That It Was Made Of Paint. I Wanted It To Creep Into Them Like A Bar Of Music And Mushroom There Like A Soft Bullet.

This Fair But Pitiless City Of Manhattan Was Without A Soul ... Its Inhabitants Were Manikins Moved By Wires And Springs.

East Is East, And West Is San Francisco