ArtFlow

The first night in a new city feels like holding your breath underwater. Everything is too loud and too bright and nobody knows your name, which is either terrifying or exactly what you needed, depending on the night.
He walked for two hours after dropping off his bags. No destination. Just movement, because standing still felt too much like admitting he didn't know what he was doing here. The streets were indifferent. The city didn't care that he'd upended everything to be in it. It just kept moving, and eventually he moved with it.
By the time he found a place to sit — a bench, a coffee, the city lights doing whatever city lights do at night — he felt something loosen. Not hope exactly. More like possibility. The specific feeling of a blank page before you've written anything wrong on it yet.