The City Loves Me.
It occurred to me some time ago, that I have spent the majority of my life wandering around the city at night, whether it was hunting down skate spots in downtown at 3am on a school night, or finding the perfect canvas. As my friends and I would comb murky back streets in awe, looking up at the skyscrapers, I always remember feeling like we were wading our way through sleeping giants. A landscape made of vacant lots, dark shadows, and fading yellow lights. Steaming sewer grates in the winter, the icy blast from parking garages in the summer, and the unforgettable sound of rolling down a marble sidewalk, or a can of paint accidentally scraping against the wall in an otherwise silent, uninhabited playground. Hour after hour has been spent like this. I cherish every moment of it, always mindful of the lessons learned, and holding close the experiences that we shared.
There is something supernatural about the energy one feels, long after most are tucked away. It is almost as if the city's blood flow is reversed, thriving with a new pulse, one that flows in unfamiliar directions, and giving richly to you, rather than sucking you dry. It's there for the taking, offering up her soul to those that are willing to endure her mysteries and dangers.
If girls knew how hot they look in the whole, over-the-knee-sock thing, we are doomed. But I think they do know, because they are wearing them a lot more. I've never been so scared and excited.
