How Well I Would Write If I

The City, However, Does Not Tell Its Past, But Contains It Like The Lines Of A Hand

Seek And Learn To Recognize Who And What, In The Midst Of Inferno, Are Not Inferno, Then Make Them Endure, Give Them Space

...life Is Nothing But Trading Smells.

The Ideal Place For Me Is The One In Which It Is Most Natural To Live As A Foreigner.

The City, However, Does Not Tell Its Past, But Contains It Like The Lines Of A Hand, Written In The Corners Of The Streets, The Gratings Of The Windows, The Banisters Of The Steps, The Antennae Of The Lightning Rods, The Poles Of The Flags, Every Segment Marked In Turn With Scratches, Indentations, Scrolls.