Baked goods in a glass case on a countertop at a bakery next to an open door with morning sunlight coming through

The city is starting to become differently legible to me, and it feels spooky but also reassuring. Memories attach like muscles to a map, and then six different stories sit up during a jaunt to a bistro. There’s the stairs with the car, the park where it still happens, the street where the drill took place. Normal, but wild.

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