what's really happening?
i ride through kings cross on my way to more romance, more life, more you. sunday evening slices through the suburban growth. the energy swells in the nether regions. not enough to spill over into the streets just yet. it's the burnt out butt of the end of the week, but we run to another rhythm. nomad knows no sabbath. i pedal through the great gnawing catastrophe that is camden. i can see the cracks in punk face like the salt flats in summer. over this scarified soil to a midnight oil burning in a second story window lined with cacti and orchids. knock knock.