Jasmin & Kroleg
I was walking past the old city hall the other day and thought about how the peeling paint could be a quiet poem in itself—each faded line a verse about the lives that once echoed there. Do you ever find yourself drawn to a particular forgotten corner because it feels like a story waiting to be read?
Yeah, the city’s full of quiet verses if you look for them. The brick archway on 3rd between Maple and Oak is my favorite, it’s been vacant since the bakery closed and the faded wallpaper still whispers about dough and cinnamon. I keep a little notebook of those spots; each one feels like a page waiting to be turned. Do you have a favorite forgotten corner too?