Dirty filthy city filled with people disregarding anything but themselves and the little lives that they’re living.
Sense of cold, arid place that animates lonely diners being served preheated junk food to a body that hasn’t known nothing else for his entire life.
That city breathes, very heavily, like she’s sick, very sick. The art is hidden in the nothingness that surrounds you. You must have a wild imagination. Not for self-entertainment but for survival.
Good souls come and go but there is still hope in the eyes of people. There is service in the voice of their leaders. There is already death inside the ones who die.
Consequentiality at it’s finest happens in times of war, interior or exterior.
Getting around and enjoying the town seems like an act of rebellion against the grey existence of the people that are looking at you from the other side of the road.
It’s no city of kindness.