beneath the crystalline sky

i miss new york. 

buttercup taxis. dim bars. wide-spaced avenues.

lower east side. west village. brooklyn. midtown. chelsea. soho.


a choose-your-own-adventure. i lived. oh, i truly lived.

and i want to remember this feeling forever.


i happen to be writing a short story, based on gov ball.

weaving scenes like these:

Rippling with the insolent beat, the embodiment of ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn’, the crowd pulses, crackles with youthful bliss beneath the crystalline sky.

A riot of guitar chords, distorted and piercing, envelopes them in a vindictive wink.

Jack White slices through the [summer night], his guitar trilling, squealing, buzzing, as though it were calling for [some ungodly creature].

i love it.

(expected to write about rainy canberra but this happened.)

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