A work in progress that will continue for as long as I will have the privilege to travel back.  There is no rush to go back to a place that changes so slowly, and yet it reveals something new every time.  A new fragment of the story. It can be something that has been there forever and that you had never noticed; or something far more interesting: the people who insist on living in a very inconvenient city. 

A city that tries to be normal, only steps away from the madness. Communities you didn't know existed, indifferent to the incessant flow of people and money that only follow one route. Creatures of habit looking after layers of history that crumble into an uncertain present. Old thinking, slow moving, forgotten glories.

Urban normal

Traces of past

The arc of history on public display, layer upon layer, nothing forgotten.

The many abstract forms of daily reality and the shapes you recognise because they are right there in your mind, without you knowing.

Patterns

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Queit serenity of warm lights. Silence broken by laughter, or gentle conversation. The rythm of steps, amplified. Drink with friends, solitude, company, unhurried thoughts. Time to spare.