I read a sign on a subway today and my imagination began to wander. Not because of the content of the advertisement, but because of the address, which I can no longer remember.
To the outsider, there’s something mythic about any New York address. An indeterminable location whispers of limitless possibility—a mystic place where giants walk.
Only in New York.
A night like all the rest. A night that crawls its way into the early morning. Fragmented thoughts. Fragmented sentences. The rest of the world sleeps. Ideas crackle across my brain like heat lightning. The winds are changing.