As we ascend, the air grows taut with nostalgia always left untapped, gasping for sidewalk conversations lost amidst the rustling leaves pouring incomprehensible secrets into the moonlit paths weaving through crowded mind-castles.
The stair beneath your foot... solid, then dissolves like digital pixels, revealing a past woven within place and time, a dance with shadows, whispering 'never forget...' but what was the name of the song, lost in echoes?
Screeching brakes cut deeper into thoughts maintaining pesky equilibrium; wait wait – where is the punchline? A goal molded under stretched smiles deftly avoided by loopholes in the current of sincerity.
Surrealism galore, with cigarettes stolen by dust bunnies named Gus, they say deception mirrors truth, fractured bits amalgamating into whole untruths against the chiaroscuro backdrop made of ancestral paper tigers.