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The sounds of the early morning commute signaled the world revolving around into another day. The morning light about to break the horizon, its heat reanimating the sleeping world. There is something to be found in this slow and unnoticeable rhythm which meanders through our day. To take the sound of traffic from morning to night and condensed it down, it would sound like a wave crashing into the ocean. A great Atlantic wave from a storm far out at sea. Its power gradually building out from the gentle roll of the swell, conjured up from the deep abyss. The behemoth of water forming from the uncontrollable mess within the sole of the ocean ready to ready to consume you. Breathe in. Hold your breath. Keep holding. But it never comes. And by the end of it, all you have is the night air in your lungs to exhale into the night sky, as if your breath where an Atlantic wave folding back into the sea with all the thunder of the road. Everything winds down until the gentle fizzle and bubble; the white specks of mess become the last set of car headlights to vanish off into the night.


Draft Book.  

Mock up of book in development.