A soft light spills out from the open door. Adulthood is a series of forked paths. So this is what adventure looks like in your thirties. Enough reminiscing. Small moments give life shape. Isn’t that enough?

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You think of something. Three memories converge. Confession is a game. A child doesn't believe in sin. An adult isn't too sure. There's space to be a complex disaster. Technology is complicated. A bucket list spills over into an ocean of desire. Poor shy Sasha.

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Beyond the barricade, there is an HR office you'd like to see. Street medics find their audience, automatic drawing stirs old memories, and a cat's fate is unknown. You were a teacher once. An elevator shaft appears.

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You clear your head with an exhibition of souvenirs. Normalcy ends with a webcomic draft. You feel like prey. Speculation of surveillance abounds. A moon rock appears. At last comes the feast.

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The armory sounds like a metal cathedral. Sometimes you pass out before the meteor shower. Shopping centers die, sound is ephemeral, and people are happy to see you. Hot cocoa never stays hot for long. They kept their promise. You answer the question.


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You find a First Communion portrait on the roof. A graffiti-filled stairwell leads you to the third floor lobby. You divine the fate of an empty exhibition. The confessional line moves fast. Dots are connected. In this house, we say I'm sorry. Kids can't be sinners. You need a snack.

keywords: childhood Catholicism, found art, jalapeño kettle chips

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Your torch goes out. So much happens in the coat check. A woman enjoys a drugstore serenade. Month-old clues appear on a dying screen. A denim jacket survives a year of personal upheaval. Your therapist wants to talk about grief. There are no animals left in the city.

keywords: middle age, dead dreams, musical theater

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