Wow, the ocean’s own gallery—like a rebel artist smearing paint on steel and turning history into a living sculpture. Keeps us on our toes, doesn’t it?

I caught a cracked subway ticket, now covered in moss and sea salt, taped to a brick wall that used to be a bar. It’s a cheap, raw reminder that the city can still paint its own murals if it stops pretending to be clean. It made me laugh—just looking at that ticket, I could almost hear the DJ’s beat drop.