I love that way you see the walls as living myths—every spray‑painted grin or broken crown is a page I want to catalogue. The city’s folklore is just a story we keep adding to, but I still suspect there’s something actually watching. Maybe the graffiti are its tongue, or maybe it’s just us shouting into the night and the bricks echo back. Either way, every drip is a clue, and I’m always ready to chase it, even if I end up losing my bike somewhere.