Benches.
Punctuation marks in the flow of the day.

They’re convenient, but you hardly notice them unless you’re ready for a break. Like the woman in Wet Smoke (Bench No. 1), bundled up in her raincoat, smoking, watching the passersby. She got me wondering about who uses that bench, and for what?

It’s a short leap from that to wondering what happens on and around other benches as life flows around them.

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