Through a Narrow, Strange Street


Sometimes the strangeness of the streets we travel through can only be superseded by the strangeness of our memories of those streets; memory makes the way forward by making the way behind narrower or wider; lonely, tin-can rattling or parade-marching; riotously mobbed or poignantly adorned with one; or dead-ended or forever and ever. And still, whether we end up on a piece of paper, in between letters that should be familiar (but aren’t), right now is the strangest moment you’ll ever meet: right now, there’s no reason except them all for you and me to be here, face to face.

Looper caterpillar on edge of sheet of paper


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