The whispering streets of the unnamed city have long been a maze for the unmoored. Voices echo from the shadows, offering directions that often circle back on themselves. Here, in this taut stratum between the known and unknown, countless wanderers converge.
In frequenting these alleys, one encounters fragments—broken stories nestled in the cobblestones, dialogues trapped between the leaves of long-abandoned newspapers. Each piece is a testament to lives entwined with this place, where the singular narrative of loss unfurls in many hands.
Aimless, yet purposeful wanderings often yield unexpected revelations. A glimpse of shifting glass beckons through the rain-streaked windows of a forgotten bazaar, revealing a surreal tapestry woven from the essence of this transient existence. Such spectacles conclude with the inevitable question: is the journey the destination, or does it merely serve as a backdrop to individual odysseys?
As night descends, the flickering neon signs map this restless terrain. Below the surface of these glowing tapestries lies a deeper understory of introspection, a vital mapping of innate curiosities resonating with the rhythm of wandering itself.
Found Never