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I am working on the 14th floor of a building in downtown Denver. It is all beige and cream and brown—I am, from what I can tell, the only person still on the floor at 4:30 p.m. on a Monday. I am listening to alt/post/nueveo/whatever the fuck country music as loudly as I can hoping to attract some sort of attention. I am supposed to be working towards a deadline. From the windows I can see the last few buildings that make up the last bit of the east side of downtown. Then the sprawl of all of the neighborhoods that keep going east. All I can think of is the moment I took this blurry photo from the 32nd floor of an apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen. I thought of this photograph before I thought to take another one from here. I thought of the friends I had to make to make this photograph. People I didn’t know before, and haven’t talked to since. I realized that that is so much of what life is, before I even thought to take a photograph out of the window of the 14th floor. It is just the view I always have, whenever I happen to make it into this office. It was not preceded by a strange friendship made on the floor of a trade show. The view I have now is the view that has been available to me for just about three years. It was waiting for me for over a year when I lived somewhere completely different. It was waiting for me when I was 3 miles away working from a couch. It is waiting for me now, while I think of a photograph from New York City instead.