Orlando

Orlando is a dead city. The streets are empty of people, sidewalks lay overgrown and unused when they exist at all. the city is populated by semi-sentient cars, trucks, and tractor-trailers, rushing around robotically. it appropriately calls to mind Disney's Cars, but unlike the film, these cars are simple machines, emotionless automatons, hurrying themselves devoid of expression between unknown destinations.
Even when a human being breaks through my hyperbole and into view, they're hollow and calloused, as if unaware of the burden living seems to put on them. there is no magic here, or perhaps, there is no more magic that has not become white man's magic, the magic or deception and trickery. Disney world consumes the spirit of the metropolis, consumes the spirit of the swamps and the forests and hoards it, amassing a dragon's wealth in the caverns beneath the matterhorn. No faeries flit among the bushes in this city and no gremlins lurk in the shadows, only the daemons of people's broken dreams and nightmares, mental constructs broken free to run wild and feast on what little joy this city can summon up in its private moments.
noone seems to want to live here. people found themselves here, born here, or moved, but never moved to a destination. they moved for family, for a good job, for a promise. never for the city itself. Some people are enraptured by the magic stolen by disney, but they're more like junkies, living out unremarkable lives in between hits of the good stuff that justifies their entire existence. no one here visits disney world sometimes, they live to go or they ignore it completely. I find myself to be the latter.