Moving on in between. The odd insight of certain music triggering other perceptions, like for different scents: The waking concrete of the city. Early traffic. The vanilla flavoured cigarette of another office dweller, reminding even more of earlier jobs, earlier colleagues before ways parted. The small kitchen, an open dishwasher, a fridge filled to the gills. Garlic, damp cold, old heat. One cautious step back. Eyes closed. Breathing near that window. Conversations with a waning moon.
📷 lost-in-moments