The Small Moments That Save Us
The real magic, though, came from the train. It was suspended from the ceiling, circling the stores and shoppers like a merry watchdog, a symbol of the old city, when industry was in full bloom.
The real magic, though, came from the train. It was suspended from the ceiling, circling the stores and shoppers like a merry watchdog, a symbol of the old city, when industry was in full bloom.
My palette has changed, and I’m not in the same 23-year-old place that can learn to love disaster. I’m elsewhere else I turn back and that’s nowhere I want to be. So: here, another quitter, dreaming of those magic dream days filled with haze, when nothing hurt.