there is no checkbox for that.
walked past panel after panel with photographs of clint eastwood. "clint eastwood" he said, as i entered the apartment for the first time and it felt like it was also the last.
then there was the little blue car. it was italian but very happy to drive all the way, for almost seven hours. just to get lost in the streets that somehow did not make sense.
at least it was the middle of the night. the days were the true horror.
i did not like the traffic during the day.
i loved the city. i just really did not like the traffic. it was so much worse than new york.
and then that walk the other day. i knew that i was feeling something. and i knew that it was a strong feeling somehow. except that by thinking that i was feeling something, the feeling itself became an abstraction, a bit of an unbelievable tale. removed.
there was the flag. such a simple flag it was. so beautiful though. and it did feel like a stone was taken off my chest. the reaction is usually very different with flags.
i wondered what the city must have felt like before there were cars. before there were large flooding lights, the giant projections of illumination onto whatever someone deemed interesting.
and tourists everywhere. taking pictures with the oddest little things. and pointing. and smiling. as if they had just managed to capture the city.
and the city smiled and grabbed them by their future memories.
it would never let go. from now on, never.
there might be a checkbox for that. maybe somewhere there is one. but it is as bad of a description as one containing thousands of words.
why does this place always smell like a beginning?