Here's a sample for today:
The daydream broke. The first thing to flood back was the noise; a city as large as this one was full of sounds. Car alarms, police and firetruck sirens, the white noise of electronic signs advertsiing the latest bullshit product. Even the water, something so clean and pure, was just adding to the caucophony. Then he saw the lights, brightly lit in windows up 20 floors and open signs coloring the urban landscape. It was all chaotic, but patterned. Like a complex machine working in unison to produce the most unhappy thing in mankind's history.
This was a cold city. Michael Flynn was sopping wet, stuck between the smelly dwellers of the its underworld like a pocket full of change. The water seeping through the buildings and cluttering the drains only spread the filth from its center, and it rained heavily often enough to ensure a near constant atmosphere of dreariness. He felt worthless in this drenching rain, and his white knuckles were clenched in anger at himself for not being prepared for it.