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Description
With a sky that struggles to offer unpolluted clouds, streets rich in garbage-filled potholes, rivers with more diseases than water, and more car thieves than there are cars, no sound mind would remain in this town willingly. Out of the few compliments I've gotten, none were for my sanity, so no wonder I'm here. Among the bunch of senseless decisions I've forged a life with, what's another to the list? Anyone with the smarts Nature reserves for rocks would abandon this wasteland now...But back in the day, before factory owners jumped at the chance to screw it over? Still nothing to brag about, but it was decent enough. A quiet city to watch the days go by, to try and be happy within the imprisonment of everyday mediocrity.

Had she not been here, that is.

Routine made an art out of slaving townsfolk. She made an art out of giving Routine both middle fingers! Literal art at that, for no interaction with the outside world went ignored in the one of her own. Wherever she took a step, her creativity was along for the ride. Every walk we made around town reincarnated into a story, a drawing, a painting...Climate mattered not. Inspiration struck her via the sun as much as it did thanks to thunder, if not more so when the latter was at its loudest. Those were perfect vehicles for her imagination to take flight, and my admiration to grow that much more.

Time delights in dissolving. What once was here no longer remains. Such as the centuries' old forest, destroyed without further thought, to inaugurate a no doubt equally enriching parking lot. Robbers have ensured it can't even brag about having many cars. But have you read the stories she wrote when Nature at its purest surrounded us? When she'd take the time to appreciate the dignity of the ancient trees, in those walks she took with her dog? Such tales remain as powerful years later, and prove the existence of a beauty that's no longer in the here and now. Or what about the sky? Back then, it bothered to show other tonalities beyond "Look how little we care! Love, factories". However, the paintings she made when this place wasn't an ode to trash, they narrate a whole different story, when sunsets were allowed to make their presence known. Who knows if the town will have a chance to see them again, but her art has the shine the wild gray yonder lost a while ago.

Not gonna pretend she touched the whole town as much as she did me. For every person you meet, you miss what goes on in the lives of a million others. But I was fortunate she had the poor judgement to think me decent enough for friendship, and most importantly, that she'd teach me there was more to life than a self-made comfort zone. Her energy was contagious. Seeing her combine creativity with action made me eager to see what it was like. Creating anything I pleased, at any moment I wanted, just because I could? Count me in! Best of all, she was happy to support anyone who joined the war against Routine. Shedding light on the basics of prose for those interested in storytelling, sharing the numerous tactics she'd use when tackling a painting...Can't forget the scars from when she tried to teach me felting. The colorful language uttered after my many self-stabs, now that lives in the memory of anyone who was five meters around, I'm sure. So much to thank her for...

She didn't stay for long. As much inspiration as the city gave her, I knew she would leave soon. That it was too small a place for her ambitions, and eventually she'd seek new landscapes to harvest fresh art from. A look at the town tells me she made the right choice; surely there's less rocks and dust wherever she is now. Dare I say, she wanted me to move on as well. Don't think I ever did, but there's always time, isn't it? There's always another minute to take advantage of, even after the many I've wasted already. It isn't up to me that the clock keeps tick tocking, thank goodness. Always another sixty seconds to try and make worthwhile...She always did like jogging, and I bet she hasn't stopped. If I begin now, perhaps we'll catch up someday. Time to start taking my own steps.

Literally. Some bastard stole my car while I rambled aloud to myself.

Description
With a sky that struggles to offer unpolluted clouds, streets rich in garbage-filled potholes, rivers with more diseases than water, and more car thieves than there are cars, no sound mind would remain in this town willingly. Out of the few compliments I've gotten, none were for my sanity, so no wonder I'm here. Among the bunch of senseless decisions I've forged a life with, what's another to the list? Anyone with the smarts Nature reserves for rocks would abandon this wasteland now...But back in the day, before factory owners jumped at the chance to screw it over? Still nothing to brag about, but it was decent enough. A quiet city to watch the days go by, to try and be happy within the imprisonment of everyday mediocrity.

Had she not been here, that is.

Routine made an art out of slaving townsfolk. She made an art out of giving Routine both middle fingers! Literal art at that, for no interaction with the outside world went ignored in the one of her own. Wherever she took a step, her creativity was along for the ride. Every walk we made around town reincarnated into a story, a drawing, a painting...Climate mattered not. Inspiration struck her via the sun as much as it did thanks to thunder, if not more so when the latter was at its loudest. Those were perfect vehicles for her imagination to take flight, and my admiration to grow that much more.

Time delights in dissolving. What once was here no longer remains. Such as the centuries' old forest, destroyed without further thought, to inaugurate a no doubt equally enriching parking lot. Robbers have ensured it can't even brag about having many cars. But have you read the stories she wrote when Nature at its purest surrounded us? When she'd take the time to appreciate the dignity of the ancient trees, in those walks she took with her dog? Such tales remain as powerful years later, and prove the existence of a beauty that's no longer in the here and now. Or what about the sky? Back then, it bothered to show other tonalities beyond "Look how little we care! Love, factories". However, the paintings she made when this place wasn't an ode to trash, they narrate a whole different story, when sunsets were allowed to make their presence known. Who knows if the town will have a chance to see them again, but her art has the shine the wild gray yonder lost a while ago.

Not gonna pretend she touched the whole town as much as she did me. For every person you meet, you miss what goes on in the lives of a million others. But I was fortunate she had the poor judgement to think me decent enough for friendship, and most importantly, that she'd teach me there was more to life than a self-made comfort zone. Her energy was contagious. Seeing her combine creativity with action made me eager to see what it was like. Creating anything I pleased, at any moment I wanted, just because I could? Count me in! Best of all, she was happy to support anyone who joined the war against Routine. Shedding light on the basics of prose for those interested in storytelling, sharing the numerous tactics she'd use when tackling a painting...Can't forget the scars from when she tried to teach me felting. The colorful language uttered after my many self-stabs, now that lives in the memory of anyone who was five meters around, I'm sure. So much to thank her for...

She didn't stay for long. As much inspiration as the city gave her, I knew she would leave soon. That it was too small a place for her ambitions, and eventually she'd seek new landscapes to harvest fresh art from. A look at the town tells me she made the right choice; surely there's less rocks and dust wherever she is now. Dare I say, she wanted me to move on as well. Don't think I ever did, but there's always time, isn't it? There's always another minute to take advantage of, even after the many I've wasted already. It isn't up to me that the clock keeps tick tocking, thank goodness. Always another sixty seconds to try and make worthwhile...She always did like jogging, and I bet she hasn't stopped. If I begin now, perhaps we'll catch up someday. Time to start taking my own steps.

Literally. Some bastard stole my car while I rambled aloud to myself.