Sometimes it feels like you've seen this city before. Not because you've actually been there, but because it's assembled from recognizable details: a train station, rental ads, random fellow travelers, furniture arranged "like everyone else's." These poems and photographs function as a memory—not personal, but collective. One where small details prove more precise than any grand words and become a true testament to someone's life.
*** When you read these poems and look at these photographs, it feels like you've seen it all somewhere else. A small town no one dreams of visiting, with a railway station and a bus terminal. A fellow traveler with a "London" bag packed by his wife. An apartment for rent ad: the TV always by the window, a sofa, two armchairs opposite the wall unit. Little things that never seem important, but only they can truthfully tell the story of someone's life.
