City of Shared Stories
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Sitting in a car after a gig, I look out and feel a bit nervous having to leave my two companions. It's the unfamiliarity of the location.
The buses, cars simply parked on the side of the street with abandon. People playing chicken on the streets, not a care in the world after being honked at by the rushing, angry traffic.
"All right, thanks for coming," my singer songwriter pal politely telling me I'm here.
"Is it safe?" I couldn't stop myself from asking while having some dastardly image of pickpockets and thieves playing in my head.
The lady in the passenger seat just laughs at the remark.
Turns out she lived in that neighborhood.
The buses, cars simply parked on the side of the street with abandon. People playing chicken on the streets, not a care in the world after being honked at by the rushing, angry traffic.
"All right, thanks for coming," my singer songwriter pal politely telling me I'm here.
"Is it safe?" I couldn't stop myself from asking while having some dastardly image of pickpockets and thieves playing in my head.
The lady in the passenger seat just laughs at the remark.
Turns out she lived in that neighborhood.
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