This city doesn't make much sense to me sometimes. All the curvatures and craters in the pavement distract me from what could be a relatively beautiful place, I think.
Beautiful, if it weren't so horribly cold and windy.
Christ, you'd think this was Chicago.
But it's not.
When no one is around, I sing inside my car while driving. It protects me from the city and from the thought that my voice will just drop into the hollow atmosphere somewhere.
Here, no one knows my voice trembles on every soft note.
What drives us to keep secrets? What motivates us to sing softly, bury the heavy stuff, or tell outright falsehoods to others we meet on the street of this town?
It's protection from the wind, my friend.
