jarvis i
high ceilings. arched windows. single panes that let the weekend in.
we lived upstairs on prince william for a while
brick, heavy doors that would slam shut, old trim, wood floors – it felt like a place with a history you could feel, like it had outlasted a lot of lives
the separation between inside and outside was thin – literally – the city bled through all day
the sidewalk had a rhythm. you’d hear it pick up, drop off, and pick up again. heels. a lock-beep. the cracks in the pavement turning a longboard into percussion. voices passing under the window and cutting off mid-sentence
the city kept moving under the glass
