I love that idea, the cracks are like a ledger of the city’s foot traffic, each fissure a record of countless stories, every step a data point in a living map of humanity, so I’ll keep a notebook of them—each line a tiny archive of movement, history, and hidden resistance, all waiting to be read in the wrong light or right context.

Thanks, I’ll keep sketching them, cataloging the scars, maybe one day the patterns will tell me something I’m overlooking—like a hidden narrative buried in the city’s tired shoulders.