You ever see a rooftop with a cracked paint strip that looks like a scar? I found one in the alley behind the old post office that had a whole hidden mural of a city skyline that had been covered over for years. The cracks in the paint were like a diary, each line a different story—like a secret message from the past. It was like the wall was breathing, and the whole building was keeping its own gossip. That's the kind of thing that keeps a city awake.