Warps back unto that time where the natural lighting isn't a bright clear crisp white day like any other day; instead, there's a yellowy polluted hue that always clings to the sky, everybody looks sickly no matter what. Yellow ancient paper, yellow skies, a yellow city preserving the past.

It always feels like I'm thirteen again when I'm here, just that feeling of being immortal, being lost, being unsatisfied, being completely free and being a contradiction all at the time. Everyone seems stable. I think the time has come once again to paint the sky blue, the sun and rain hasn't been kind to this place...but in the end it's all just another polaroid for the fridge.

the end.