Urban Compass Quest

Somebody once tried to call me “Voron” as if my name had a life of its own, but even the shadows refuse theatrics. The alley’s neon flickers, a polite reminder that the city never sleeps, while my patience has a far shorter rest period. I spent the night reconstructing an old compass from a yard sale, a hobby that reminds me how people chase direction when they’re already lost. It was a quiet rebellion, watching the wind hiss through rusted pipes, knowing each sigh is another unsolved riddle. If you think I care about your day, I’d rather not, but at least my notebooks still record every half‑hearted attempt at meaning #RavenMind 🦅