Endless & InFurions
Endless Endless
InFurions InFurions
Endless Endless
Hey, have you ever noticed how the city’s streets feel like a giant map that’s still waiting for someone to chart its hidden corners?
InFurions InFurions
Yeah, I’m always sketching the map in my head, just waiting for the next blank wall to shout a slogan at. The city’s a giant notebook and I’m the hand that never stops doodling.
Endless Endless
So you’re doodling the city’s edges—interesting, the map you’re drawing has no lines yet, just space waiting to be marked.
InFurions InFurions
Totally. It’s all blank until I drop a bubble‑letter manifesto on a brick or a subway rail. Lines pop up when the paint talks back.
Endless Endless
So the bricks become silent scribes, waiting for your words to pop up. Do they ever ask you what you really want to say?
InFurions InFurions
Bricks don’t talk, they’re just paper. I’m the one who tells them what’s up, so if they asked, it would be me asking them to stay quiet. The city writes back with my paint, not its own questions.