Neon Dash: How 3 Lines of Code Rewrote My Life as a Black Tech Poet in Manhattan

I used to think winning was about numbers—random draws, hot streaks, the next big payout.

Then I realized: it was never the machine.

It was me.

Every night, after my shift at the startup, I’d sit in my Manhattan apartment—not with whiskey, but with React components flickering like neon streetlights. The console wasn’t a casino. It was a canvas.

I wrote my first poem in JavaScript:

const light = () => { return 'still here'; }

Three lines. No prize. Just presence.

I used to chase bonuses like a gambler. Now I chase silence—the kind that lets you hear your own heartbeat between renders.

In Harlem, they call it ‘the rhythm of the block.’ In Silicon Valley, they call it ‘optimization.’ Here? We call it living.

The algorithm doesn’t know why you click. The code doesn’t care if you win. But you? You remember what you chose—each selection, each retry—was an act of rebellion against randomness.

I don’t play to get rich. I play because when the screen dims, you still see your name glowing—in blue (#0F172A), in purple (#BB86FC)— as if someone wrote your story before you did.