A young, homeless, gay, black man is mostly worried about his next meal and only half listens when Paolo tries to tell him how to listen to the city. All great cities are on the same trajectory, and when they get big enough, they become a thing unto themselves. New York must be born, and it needs a midwife. And there are some who would try to stop the new life at all costs.

This is my kind of speculative fiction — imaginative, beautiful, surreal, and horrifying, and greater than the sum of its parts. I love the voice of the narrator, an inner city homeless man whose perspective is unique, and whose voice is vivid and perfect for the story. By definition, this is fantasy in an urban setting, but breaks the urban fantasy mold with it’s concept of birthing a conscious metropolis. A fantastic pick for the Hugo best short story award this year.

Recommended for anyone who loves to wander the city at night!

I’ll starve to death someday, or freeze some winter night, or catch something that rots me away until the hospitals have to take me, even without money or an address. But I’ll sing and paint and dance and fuck and cry the city before I’m done, because it’s mine. It’s fucking mine. That’s why.