My fingers are cold and this is October in another city. A city I had never touched before leaving my traces all over town. That’s what’s great about words. They can travel with you, leaving pieces of your soul in all the places you stop. The world is wide and letters can fill up the air. The vibrations of love and life and fake poetry can be left on napkins in places you will never be again. People come and go, find places outside of where they are. Seconds away from where they want to be, but the coffee flows here, there is wifi.
Graffiti is a novelty, looking at artistry in places unallowed. It consumes here, too much of something will typically kill. Talent is surrounding, left to walls in the back alleys losing meaning and creating cluttered works. The painters leaving their mark, disregarding the holistic structure. Too…
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