"In the labyrinth of the old city, one can hear the stones speak. They murmur remnants of tales untold. Have you ever followed a shadow into a place unknown?" whispered the man in the heavy coat, his breath a wispy fog in the cool air.

Equivalent questions rain down on an existential canopy:
"Which way do we turn once the stars align but to our blind side?"
And thus the fabric stretches, woven from dusk to dawn.

"Seek not the path but the meaning behind the wandering. Do dreams guide the soul or merely unfold the lies it clings to?" commented another passerby, this time a lady with spectacles reflecting a light of forgotten assurance.