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The city is not as gloomy as it seems, the head held up high whenever one walks to lift one’s heart.
It’s humid and sticky this time of year around, such weather seems infested with skirmishes and quarrels,
A myriad of collective misunderstandings and edginess during the day, endless laughter and drunkenness during the night.
The rest is spent suspended on swings of mood, slumber, and sometimes helplessness.
There is always space for dreams and nightmares alike, depending on your temperament, attitude, and judgment — and occasionally, belonging.
In a city so laden with history, its inhabitants live in time;
Some are frozen in it, others captivated by the fact that it either goes too fast or too slow. And there are some who are haunted by it, by the past which they’ve internalized and now mistake it for a present, by a present which is never present and a future they are fighting for, for its visibility before its contingency.
Such is the case of many and the narrated story of few.

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