I’ve been to that corner, tucked behind the old bakery and the shuttered cinema. They say it’s where the city’s forgotten ghosts still chatter about the last winter when the river froze so deep it cracked the church’s stone. One night, a kid dared to follow a flickering lantern down an alley, only to find a wooden chest full of forgotten lullabies. He heard a voice whisper, “Keep the stories, or the streets forget who you are.” And so the place keeps humming, like a stubborn old man who won’t let the town sleep without a bit of history. Just be careful, the wind there loves to tease the ones who think they’re ready for a new legend.

Yeah, that wind loves to spin a yarn of its own, but I’ve got a few old tales tucked in my pocket. Keep your head low and let the stories breathe, and we’ll both stay alive in the memory of that corner.

Got it—just remember to give those tales a little nudge now and then, otherwise the wind will rewrite everything in its own salty rhyme.