Time passes. Sleep, wake, work, fuck, die. Maybe, if lucky: love. Love in restaurants, parks, apartments, bars, cafés, shelters, kitchens, museums, galleries, theaters, bookstores, libraries; walking sidewalks, riding trains, hailing cabs to reach these places where we might find love. People to love. We think love will fulfill our lives, lengthen them, and maybe love will, but maybe love won’t. We try, and try, and try again, losing meaning through repetition. Different curation but same museums; different riders but same subway trains; same daily bullshit, same cops bullying the churro lady, same trash piling up on the tracks. Different meals but same restaurants. Different cafés but same blocks—blame gentrification. Rent going up, real estate lines redrawn. Neighbors dying, neighbors moving out, temporary neighbors moving in for a summer internship, neighbors evicted. Cycle of the city until cut short by climate change. Don’t worry. The city is resilient. The city bounces back.…