315202 and 1792933981 in a city where rain feels like a conspiracy

i woke up to the sound of rain tapping my window like it was trying to tell me a secret. the temp’s 7.95 right now, feels underneath, like it’s judging me. i checked the forecast last night and thought this place was trying to psych me out, turns out it actually does this every single day. i’m here with my head in a bucket of bad decisions and a sweater that’s seen better showers. by the way, if you’re reading this from inside a tent, please don’t. unless? unless that’s your thing.

the neighbors here are a vibe. my next-door apartment rents to a guy who plays tuba at 3am and a pair of squatters who roast marshmallows over a gas stove in the rain. we all know each other now, which is great or i’m not sure? i heard someone say that the local pub serves the worst coffee in europe, but then again, i also heard that the same pub has a secret menu item called ‘the meteor shower’ which is just a pour-over with a splash of something dangerous. don’t ask me what dangerous is, my backpack doesn’t smell of motor oil, it smells of espresso and regret.

i went to this tiny cheese-making place near the dock because the host told me it was ‘the most authentic thing here’ and he was either a hippie or a lobbyist for dairy. i don’t know which. the owner showed me how to slice the curd while yelling about clark abolishing feudalism. i nodded, ate a wedge, and realized chorizo would’ve made everything better. subsequent regret is a flavor that pairs well with this city’s weather.

i did a loop of the old train tracks where graffiti artists have turned the tunnels into art organs. one wall has a painting of a bird made entirely of discarded receipts. i don’t know if it’s a metaphor for capitalism or just the artist’s taxes. i took a photo with my old film camera (yes, i’m that person) and the image came out grainy and existential. i uploaded it to unsplash because i’selfie guilt and also because the algorithm eats charity.

someone told me to avoid the central square after dark because it’s ‘where the demons gather.’ i didn’t ask for details, just nodded and went to a rooftop bar instead. turns out the rooftop bar is literally on top of a warehouse full of melted plastic cups. i drank wine while staring at a faded mural of a woman cashing checks. the bartender said she was a real person who did that in 1992. or maybe it’s a metaphor? either way, i’m here to be confused.

i checked the weather app again. feels like 6.75, which means i’ll probably regret bringing my nice sundress. i packed a hoodie, a rain poncho, and a novel that i’ll never read. the humidity’s 87%, which makes everything smell like a damp sock that’s been hoarding secrets. if you get bored, cities like [Antaleia] or [K fortifications] are just a short drive away. i’m not sure they’re real, but they sound better than this place.

i heard that the local market sells sugar cubes dipped in anise for 50 cents. i bought one. i put it in my tea. it tasted like a childhood memory mixed with regret. i don’t know why this city insists on giving me these micro-moments of nostalgia. also, i heard that if you ask enough people about the weather, they’ll start talking about their ex. i asked five. i got asked questions. my backpack is now a bag of existential dialogues.

there’s an app called [LocalHotSpots] that lists all the weirdest cafes. i used it to find a place called ‘the font of all stories’ which sells books bound in old receipt paper. it’s probably a scam, but i bought a copy of ’the art of grids in broken postgresql’ anyway. i’m 80% sure the owner was judging me. the espresso there was cloudy and smelled like betrayal. i’m leaving the city tomorrow, but i won’t flash my goodbye to it. i’ll just disappear into a train station and let the rain wash me away.

if you want to visit this chaos, here are some links: a TripAdvisor review from someone who claims the weather here is sentient, a Yelp page that lists curd cheese as the top food item, and a Reddit thread about chasing ghosts in the abandoned train tunnels. i also found this blog post about the best time to visit, which is clearly wrong but i paid money for it.

i’m probably going to write this all down in a journal later. possibly while sitting in a taxicab that smells like brie and diesel. the temperature might rise, or it might just stay this consistently damp. either way, i’ll forget most of it by tomorrow. this is how i roll.

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