3:22am. The sound of traffic is like static—ever moving. This city is alive and breathing. It is strange to be living in the middle of it and be so unfimilar to it. But I suppose these things take time—which I have a plethora of. Along wıth the traffıc: seagulls. Odd for me ears to hear such a thing in a city. My mind assocıates them with the beach. But I am surrounded by the sea—two in fact. Also, cat calls. There are cats everywhere. They are night owls, watchmen. A part of me would like to believe that all the cats here are living out their nine lives, that they are in fact ghosts, witness to the hıstory and changes of this city. Their eyes have seen time pass, the movement of the streets. They carry wısdom.