i tend to start new adventures on very little sleep ( Read more... )

i often try to slyly get in the background of strangers' photos, walking under sather gate or down the central steps of the british museum as if i didn't notice the lens but hoping i timed it right for the click ( Read more... )

in liverpool, we stayed in the embassie hostel. i turned to sarah and asked her what it smelled like, and we both knew the answer: cloyne court. the smell of youth and filth. we had the room at the top of the stairs and a piece of paper was under the floorboards, too small a space to stick a hand into and so the secrets were kept safe. the room ( Read more... )

this city is beautiful and the streets know it, though the only people who seem to notice are those with cameras and guidebooks. age and history must lose the effect of awe once you are around them long enough, like believing your grandmother is the strongest woman you know underneath her wrinkled skin and frail bones.

the way people stood in front of the two lovers kissing longer than they stood in front of a gentleman's portrait, they were reminded of what they weren't doing.

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yesterday, to make myself feel happier, i did this:


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oh, the strangers i fell in love with that sunday.

i wonder if, when we move into the new apartment, i'll notice the absence of the live music that comes from jupiter, a local pub, every night.

tonight i read about the underground city of montreal for the first time.