The edges of New York City resemble the suburban sprawl I grew up in. After getting a New Haven style apizza, I walked toward the Metropolitan Avenue Bridge, seeking water. Along the stroad, the small specialty warehouses (refrigeration? truck repair? Thai food?) lifted my flickering awareness of long supply chains to the foreground.

Though we constructed these spaces for vehicles, not people, I ventured deeper until I encountered a perfect gate, with a chain lock to block intruders and a gap just big enough for me to squeeze through. And so I did, sliding my cold leftover apizza and warm gas station sparkling water beneath the gate to accompany me. Though the wholly rectangular waterway looked ugly, it felt beautiful, as if I had rebelled against suburbia.