It was across the river, right over the bridge where he was told that it was not good enough to have a funny accent and maybe a mustache and this hardcore slick hair. Small white shirts were also pretty much two years ago. The stuff on his chin was basically unspeakable sin.
What was left for him to do? Throw away his digital camera? Abandon his photoblog? Should he move back home?, start waiting, stop waiting?
Was the city getting old? Was he getting old?
Too many questions to figure out on this particular night...
