For no good reason
Perhaps you’re not here in Atlanta and can’t walk on the unpaved path and experience my meager artistic expression. Perhaps you can’t meet the nice guy on the bike who now works at the same place I worked when I moved here 26 years ago, who hugged me goodbye after we met and talked for ages. Perhaps you can’t see the young woman with the dog who sat on the abandoned train tracks and chatted with me while I hammered. Perhaps you can’t understand why I do things like this for no good reason. Perhaps you can.