It’s spring, it’s here, I’m calling it. There’s the usual culprits, so much rain and genuine licks of sunlight, and that old onion we planted in the windowsill is actually honest-to-god sprouting. And I’m out, taking the pulse of the city, finding it still alive, we’re still here, estamos vivos, parece. Me too.
No man’s art next door. An invitation to climb into the insistent sky.
Wholesale mannequin parade. Readymade framing. Coiffed and poised.