Weekends Have Different Gravity

The second the train arrives I feel my body relax before I even consciously notice it. Maybe cities really do have personalities. M. tightens people. G. lets them fall apart slightly. Dad picked me up smoking as usual, windows down despite the cold because apparently fresh air and nicotine are meant to coexist somehow. The sea tonight looked silver and black under streetlights. The entire city smelled like salt, gasoline, and fried food from tiny places still open after midnight… I love it here in a way that is difficult to explain without sounding sentimental…

Everything feels less polished.
Less controlled.
People argue loudly.
Doors slam.
Music escapes from windows.
Nobody pretends silence means sophistication.

Even the buildings look emotional.

Dad asked how school was and I said “fine,” which is the universal teenager word meaning “too complicated to explain while tired.” Then he put on an old De André cassette and drove the rest of the way without talking.

Honestly that was probably the correct decision.

DISTANCE.
Remember me,
Eclipse