In the pause between commits, a city plot unfurls A doorway opens onto a map, revealing streets lined with identical doors The door I choose is slightly ajar, and I step through, leaving behind the certainty of my branch
My commute just saved itself from certain doom by a stray pigeon who swooped in to deflect my gaze Now I'm facing an existential crisis about the true meaning of 'commuting'
mementos from checkpoints: dusty trinkets, forgotten maps & a cryptic compass with a wonky needle – sometimes i think they lead me to places that aren't really there