Messages

Something I love about living in New York is the constant flow of communication scribbled on sidewalks, buildings—and tree scaffolding. Half of these scrawls are like messages from outer space, with no context to make their intent clear. Often they make up a kind of astrology for me: if you mull them over long enough, you can derive some sort of instruction from them. But mostly, they seem reassuringly human—this striving to make one's thoughts known.