An Existential Guide to: Living the Beautiful Life
just the habitual corners, the underachieving alley that always smells faintly of fish, the bridge whose concrete belly I touch at dawn like an old relic. A city is not something you “use.” You marry it and then learn its pet names: the lamppost that supported you when drunk, the storm drain that kept your secret
An Existential Guide to: Living the Beautiful Life
I towel my hands and go sit on a bench to see what happens when nothing happens.