Hap-pen-stance
There were days not just a few months ago that I spent both stranded and awander in a city with low brick buildings sparsely crunched between abandoned houses. Some half-home to a middle class degraded, not into something foul, but something tired; and wicked, only because of that.
I stared at sidewalks for hours, above a small parliament of plastic toys perched red and jovial on the sill.
It’s only in the past few months or so, though, that I’ve been able to settle into a strange routine, the same way that water comes to settle in the sand as some tepid tide slips in.
