If this wall could talk how many stories would it tell us? How many anectdotes, fragments of lives, urban poems could it narrate? Pieces of juxtaposed realities that daily cross path through the streets. But maybe, that's actually the beauty of walls. Their speechlessness. We can imagine what happens right in front of it. Dream. Or we can take a spray can and make it ours, leaving a trace on it, an image, a word, a drawing. Our story on it. Our story in our city. Aren't we all the writers of our reality? Photo by lilypenelope
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