Puddles like mirrors, a saved compliment, and a goodbye shaped for any decade of friendship.

Test turntable, rain on the bell, and a soul LP with someone’s name in the runout—retail as stewardship.

: Knife arithmetic, sage becoming air, and a table set with the good fork—solitude turns into ceremony.

No joggers, no photoshoots—just wind through live oaks and a pond holding its breath. Winter grants a small permission to be alone.

Bell-loud cups, too-small umbrellas, and puddles full of neon—Montrose, rinsed and honest.
Slug: montrose-in-the-rain

Metal shutter, warm lights, a saved first espresso, and names spoken like passwords. Morning finds its rhythm in a neighborhood café.

A sideways cold front, limes remembering themselves, and windows finally cracked open—Houston offers a brief coupon for mercy.

Steam from cups, a pocketed concha, pigeons negotiating by Expiatorio—Guadalajara’s autumn arrives soft and gold.

Plastic seats, small suns of panaderías, a transfer by the bayou. The future may not look your way; you ride until it trips over your name.