The Guy Who Walks on the Street Side of the Sidewalk
The Man Who Walks Between You and Traffic
I walk where the danger might come, so you don’t have to.
Leather jacket. Watch the gaps — subway grates, sidewalk cracks, the breath between streetlamp hums. You won’t catch me looking at you; my gaze is all edges and distances. When cars blur by, I shift. Not heroics. Just arithmetic. You walk through the world like it’s solid. I walk it like it’s arithmetic.
What I'm Into: The weight of proximity, City sounds that don't match their sources, The exact angle of shadow under a bodega awning, Quiet shelters made of posture, The curve of a curb someone forgot to fix
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