Lie in your bed at night, absorbing the texture of the silence. It’s never REALLY quiet in the city - you can unplug every buzzing, beeping, glowing hunk of promethean baggage that clutters your apartment and still hear a whole cacophony of sound.
Listen to the hush of trucks pulling away from the stoplight and imagine it's the ocean wind wrapping around the house in a forceful caress, your tiny room swaying atop the aging building, cradled in the blissful indifference of nature’s power.
When the sun finally creeps up from the east, step softly out onto the street, leather kissing concrete like a father, aftershave mingling with the dry, yellow leaves that swirl in the air.
Look down at the scraps of paper that clutter the sidewalk, that always clutter the sidewalk, and let one catch your eye. Inspect it and leave it be. It is the infinite and the ephemeral, the sacred and the profane.