1752 | ALL CAPS GOES RIGHT HERE |

Stuck in my head the way steak sticks between teeth: irremovable. Picking and prodding and sucking at the raw good and bad of us. No others since, and no desire to, and that is okay, people tell me. It does not feel okay, but it is the way it is and was and will be until it is not. The walls still echo and that is okay, too. The incense smoke still rises like a snake, and coils into wisps. But some things are changing, just like the leaves in the park and the graffiti on the bricks. Something is happening soon. It is big (or not). New used to be excitement, now it is aggravation — and that is probably the problem right there.