There is mystery to how faith takes root and flourishes, how need transforms into belief.

The only way to metabolize anger is to direct your focus to things at hand. Like my breath, which comes out in fogs. Like the whirring of the space heater, its thin heat disappearing out the cell as soon as it is made.

It’s not too bad here if you can stand being alone,

I have always lived in the myth of New York more than in its reality. It is what enabled me to live there for so long, loving the idea of something more than the thing itself.

New York fucking City, tedious and boring, its charms as illusory as its facade of authenticity. Its lines were too long. Everything was a status symbol and everything cost too much. There were so many on-trend consumers, standing in lines for blocks to experience a fad dessert, gimmicky art exhibits, a new retail concept store.

To live in a city is to live the life that it was built for, to adapt to its schedule and rhythms, to move within the transit layout made for you

It is a primitive darkness. It has always been here, after all the city lights have gone out, carrying its own time with the sun.

It made me wistful for the illusion of New York more than for its actuality, after having lived there for five years.

I have always lived in the myth of New York more than in its reality. It is what enabled me to live there for so long, loving the idea of something more than the thing itself. But toward the end, in those weeks of walking and taking pictures, I came to know and love the thing itself. This was partly because I loved the work of documenting it. Even