Some poets deal in the unseen. They look for the dystopian galaxy that may or may not exist within some seemingly random, supposedly ordinary household object. Ridgeway occasionally touches on this philosophy, but it ultimately doesn’t seem to be his bag. He is much more interested in functioning as a storyteller. He thrives on giving us the impression that we have just set foot in an urban setting that is simultaneously 1960s Las Vegas, Tim Burton’s Gotham City, the breaking point New York City reached by the end of the 1970s, and a few other sprawling, menacing, dazzling cityscapes.