ㅤsilhoutte: 🩻⠲ㅤvol. 1998
(architecture of the unkempt)
\
ㅤas the traffic lights bleed red and gold
across his face, he finds a solitary bench.
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

he doesn’t belong to the polished glass towers or the hurried suits; he belongs to the grit, the late-night diners, and the echoes between buildings.

/ 럭비; 11

faint white lines across
his knuckles, trophies
of a physical life. ⓘ .. 🏈