Neo Noir New York: The Driver

So many stories hidden in so many tucked away places, this city, like a canvas of spilled ink and soft glows. Our lives are folded in these overlaps, our actions like shadows on glass. Our knowledge of others is like the shapes we see in the clouds. You might see someone truly for an instant, even know them- but the wind will surely blow (like time, it never stops). It will blur the edges of your perception, reshape the ones you love, it will whip the waves against the rocks and drown you in it’s certainty. We know ourselves best, but even then, we are bent with the wind, we swirl in the eddies that cut deep pools in hard stone, and time itself reminds us that change is the only word with consistency.