We have a table a NYCC
Seeya soon Big Apple
In the city the concrete hurts my feet. Thousands of purposeful little steps but my stride lost. These things on my head grow, they weigh me down, make me less agile. Perhaps they are in my head, grown inward like roots. I listened to every word … who was I to doubt it was the truth? But maybe it was always a myth, a Cinderella fantasy. But if I can picture it mustn’t it be there?