Someday I'll make it to this city with its washed out colours but infinite personality, where the skies are almost hidden by glass and steel, and the air is heavy with the thoughts of every person who has ever walked those streets. Someday I'll walk the underground tunnels, filled with the sounds of the homeless snoring and the penniless praying for a coin in song. Someday I'll meander through the park, or dance across the tourist sights, touching, skimming, flirting, but never landing, because there is another something around the corner or behind the next tree, or through the next door. Because there's something new in a stranger's smile. Because there's something new in me - an unbroken wanderlust for a new hometown where the streets are old and dirty and crowded, but vibrant, and where every corner is familiar from a vague, out of focus memory.