I’ll take this constant search for oneself over not being able to ever get lost. Photo: Chris Grundy
A message that went through time and somehow landed with a step in the mud. Dramatically lost in thought, to the extreme of not remembering the day that comes or the night that goes. Lost in the scene that unfolds while the windows shatter from the high notes off of the streets that see stories that no one tells. Streets with a taste of long hours of mysterious drinking and high content of discreet smoke
A line up filled with dogs that will bark at you every chance they get, as if those pointy rocks that stare at you with hungry eyes while you burn and your skin irritates from all the weird creatures were not enough to tempt you back to shore.
But of course it’s not enough, although life might seem so young and reckless here for the most part, this is the environment where I feel safe. Away from staring looks and the pointless conversations about how long hours in front of a screen punching numbers in, while getting told to do so, is a better option than venturing into the unknown without shoes to wear or a comfortable bed to sleep in, better than to run around with street dogs, eat cheaply and unreliably, befriend the uncertain and better than these massive green walls of perfection than run through me, even with eyes closed.
And at the end of it all, I’ll take this constant search for oneself over not being able to ever get lost.
