Consider the changing rhythms of power.

[jacktellslies]

The paint breeds in the summer. Last year it was all stickers, the same five characters in a thousand guises. They lurked in the alleyways and peeked down from street signs and made you feel as if you were running into friends all over town. This year it's tagging, not writing, and the names are all simple directives. Come and Grab own my neighbourhood. I like Juicy, too, curling in girlish calligraphy. I understand why this city rubs people the wrong way. It doesn't caress; it gropes. My kind of place, really.

I've lived in a few distant places and many friends have moved away. I miss you all, it's quite true. But a more acute pain that that to which I am accustomed struck me, and the next day there my friends were, flying in all the way from Florida. Funny old world.