A Garden to Tend to

It’s been years since the last time I shared my thoughts actively on the web. A lot has happened since, but I never dedicated time to reflect on it. It feels like a shame not just for the lost record, but also for the stress of hoarding those thoughts for myself.

I have to learn the same lesson every six months or so: Nothing beats stress like a good todo list. It seems to work for the task backlog in my head, so why not the thought backlog as well?

Let this be my garden on the internet, a place to call home, retreat to after a long day or at the end of the week, to think back about what happened with me, what’s happening to the world, and what I’m thinking about.

The hardest step is the first one, so with this post, I say to my new blog: Hello, World!

Reflexions on my 28th Year

Every year, since my 23rd birthday, I share a blog post, summarizing the year and my experiences. It’s a personal retrospective I share in order to string a narrative through the year, and define and describe my life as it stands at the time. This is the fifth installment. 

Darkroom was just selected by Apple as one of the best apps on the App Store for 2015. It’s an indescribable honor to be featured alongside great products by a company I have admired and looked up to since I was a child.

When Matt and I started Darkroom, we wanted to model it after the Apple and Leica ethos. To us, that meant no gimmicks, and a profound respect to the user and their time using our product. It’s humbling to see that recognized today with Darkroom rated so highly and Apple recognizing it. Thank you for all your support throughout. I’m excited about Darkroom’s future. 


Today is my 28th birthday. I’m on a Greek island where 6 weeks ago thousands of people were arriving daily. It was an overwhelming experience and we’re back here to profile the locals. It’s a village of dreams and fantasies, and I’m thankful to spend my birthday here among a fantastic array of friends and friendly faces. 

We have only a few days left on the project, and after 2 months on the road, I’m spent. Over the past few weeks, Sara and I have started seeing mental snapshots of what some of the pages in the book might look like and we’re unbearably excited about bringing it to life. This book will be the first step in a long march to capture and share this historic event. We’ve seen this crisis from many angles, and witnessed it first hand. 

The world is in a precarious place today, and a nuanced understanding of reality is important as we continue to shape our policies and opinions through our elected officials. An educated public is a fundamental component of a healthy democracy, and we hope to do our part in sharing what we’ve experienced and learned first hand. 


When I left my job at Instagram, I wasn’t sure what I was leaving it to do, and at many points along the journey, I wasn’t sure whether or not I made the right decision. The decision to leave was made out of an inner conflict with where my life was headed. 

In San Francisco, what success was measured by and what I as a competitive person was competing with was pulling me down a road that felt foreign to me. Even today, when I try to more purely pursue my passions, it’s hard not to look over the Facebook fence and see what my friends in Silicon Valley are doing and not feel like I’m dragging my feet in the sand and falling behind. 

The same trait that made me successful in my time in the valley is also making it very hard for me to pull away, but what brought me to Silicon Valley is not what was keeping me there last year, so I had to face that reality. That much I knew. Where I go from here, I’m still figuring out.

It has taken a long time — Too long if I’m being honest with myself — but I’ve made a bit of progress. I’m still not where I want to be yet, but I’m working through it


A lot has happened this year:

Released Darkroom – February
London Trip – February
Middle East Trip – May
Released Darkroom 2 – August
PNW road trip – July
Month in NYC – August
Displaced – October to December

…along with a lot of other little trips along the year. I’ve visited so many countries, met so many people, and wrote a lot of code. Like, a lot. I’ve gone on my first backpacking trip, and I started writing my first book.


I feel more self aware than I ever have before, but I’m struggling to articulate it and actualize it. Sometimes it felt like I might be running away from something, but I feel good about how I’ve grown over the past year. I’m looking forward to a year of introspection and solidifying some big changes in 2016 as I crystalize Darkroom’s future and write Displaced’s first draft.

As 2015 comes to an end, I feel cautiously good. I feel like my relationship to the world is stronger and more mature. My thinking is still morphing, and I’m re-evaluating my emotional reactions and decision-making process. It’s taking time, but I’m slowly becoming more aware of the journey, and ultimately, that’s what helps me steer and push forward.

Thanks Sara Kerens for the photo.

Entering Washington

I was ready to get out of Portland. It had be a few days and on the one hand, I was starting to feel a lot of the same anxiety and stress that caused me to leave SF in the first place. On the other hand, I felt like I may not get the chance to visit the Pacific Northwest with Sierra again, but I can fly and Uber around Portland whenever I want. Alright, we passed by the maps section at Powell’s Bookstore and I picked up a PNW map.

 

I remember from my last road trip through the Southwest that highways are to be avoided, and byways are where the fun is. I can’t go past 55mph comfortably anyway, and there’s usually less traffic. Byways usually wind through the country more, and have better views, and stopping to take photos is much more accessible. Plus, in a car as non-aerodynamic as a 1991 VW Vanagon, getting stuck behind a semi-truck makes the van shake like a salt shaker. Google maps is fine for avoiding highways, but tracing the white lines of the byways on a paper map and always having a full overview of the trip has a certain romantic quality to it.

 

After Powell’s, grabbing a beer flight at Bridgeport near Tom’s apartment, hunched over the map tracing my route north along the 101 to drive around Olympic National Park clockwise, David (Tom’s Personal Trainer. A tangent we don’t need to get into) showed up and shared stories his honeymoon in the Cascades and Rockies of Washington.

 

Ok then, I guess I’ll cut my trip short around Olympic NP and retrace David’s honeymoon. He pointed out a very thin and long lake east of Seattle called Lake Chelan with a small secluded boat-access-only town called Steheken on the norther shore. Apparently you can take a boat out to the hiking trails, and charter a flight back. Sounds right up my alley. I marked the path on the map. In the process, my eyes adjusted and I noticed that the map also listed all the public campgrounds in the PNW. Hallelujah! It’s been driving me nuts trying to find campgrounds, ones that have any first-come-first-served spots, and ones that are a reasonable distance away. The instant availability of the entire internet means I’m constantly researching the options trying to find the best one, wasting hours and getting frustrated in the process. You can’t comparison shop on a map. Cool.

 

Later that night, after doing a load of laundry, packing up, setting the alarm for 5:30 AM (I’m a little anxious about those first-come-first-serve spots), I started looking up hikes and things to do around Seattle. That’s when I started looking up photos of the hikes on Instagram (Thanks guys for Places search!) I started losing my mind in excitement. Washington’s mountains look so majestic, so large and numerous, so accessible and well documented, I was left in a bit of a state of shock. Jealous of Seattleites and longing for some deeper connection to the mountains, I decided to try solo backpacking for one night along one of the popular hikes. This is not an entirely straightforward proposition though, seeing as I have a major release coming up in 3 weeks that I’ve been slaving at for months, so having an active internet connection is important, and I’ve never done an individual backpacking trip before, so there’s that anxiety, but on a popular trail, in a popular area, for one night…I should be fine.

It didn’t take long for me to get out of bed, still riding that wave of excitement. Quietly left Tom’s apartment and made my way to the van which was conveniently parked right outside a Safeway. A quick supply run later, I had an audiobook going, the engine running, and my tank half full. We’re on, baby!

 

Leaving Portland due west on the 30, I passed by a large forest on my left, and a river to my right. This being 6:30 AM, there wasn’t much traffic, so I was making good time. The road turned right, I crossed the bridge and was back on my way north.

 

It was surprising to me how quickly I was able to get outside Portland and find myself in the open country again. On either side of me, large factories, pillars of steam rising, and piles of timber lay as far as I can see. All along the drive north, timber seems to be the regional industry of note, and every pile makes me a little sad. I’ll have to read that Wikipedia page when I get some internet. Presumably, our sustainability and conservation history plays a role in ensuring we don’t wipe out the Redwoods, and as a city slicker like myself, I don’t know the first thing about the timber industry. It seems to employ most people in the little towns I drive through on the byways, and the subculture of wood carvings and trinkets line the outside of the rest stops and walls of the diners.

 

An hour or so into the drive, I pull over into a diner on the side of the road for some coffee and breakfast. The first thing you see when you walk in isn’t wood panelling with rustic bar stools. It’s a wall of gum and rolling hot dogs with a bored clerk in front of a wall of cigarettes. You see, this is a combination Gas Station and Diner. First one I’ve seen! Sure enough, the bar stools were attached to the side, I grabbed one, and my exquisitely mulleted waitress got me my menu and coffee and off I was doing my usual let’s-read-everything-twice-and-just-get-two-eggs-and-sausage routine. Next to me, two self-proclaimed regulars sat down and started chatting. It was actually really nice to see it, they were older, but they were heckling the waitress and she was heckling right back as if they were in a redneck Cheers revival. “…Wifi stopped working…called them, got some foreigner. Couldn’t understand a damned word she was sayin!” “Only in America.” Yeah. Only in America. 

At some point, I crossed into Washington. I wasn’t sure when that happened, maybe when I crossed the bridge? It’s not totally clear to me. In any case, the byway was almost empty the entire drive, I got into my campsite, nobody was there, I went to pay, and discovered, much to my joy, that it was free! (Well, the pass I had to buy cost $30), but it was nice! Unfortunately, there’s no service here in the campsite, and I’ve been working for a few hours making filters.

 

Tomorrow I’m driving early to Olympic National Park, and hopefully going on a nice long hike. Hopefully I can catch some REM cycles despite the ATVs and gunshots nearby. What is it with gun ranges and ATVs and campgrounds here?

Two Steps Back and Three Hopeful Steps Forward

Of the hundreds of bike rides I’ve been on, one stands out above all others. It was my first attempt at riding out to Stinson Beach by way of Muir Beach along Highway 1. I didn’t have an internet connection, and I hadn’t checked the elevation map beforehand, so I didn’t know what lay ahead of me. At some point, I stopped, looked at the road ahead of me, and turned back. 

Today, after months of built-up angst about my increasing weight, I got up, put on my cycling outfit, loaded the mountain bike into the car, and drove out to Tennessee Trailhead for a ride in the mountains. The trail starts out flat on paved road, eventually forking off into dirt and winding its way up 800 ft. The weather was fairly gray and cloudy, but the fog added a beautiful surrealism to the green-covered smooth hills on either side. After two weeks in the Middle East, the air felt refreshingly clean and crisp, and the sound of the crashing waves made their way through Tennessee Valley. That all felt great. What didn’t feel great were my legs and my lungs.

After the first hill, I thought I just needed to take a breather. I was hunched over my handlebars trying to catch my breath.

On to the next turn.

I barely made it up when I looked up the trail, saw the third hill coming up and had to stop again to catch my breath. When I could barely lift my leg up to my pedal to clip in and keep going, I knew the time had come. I was barely 2 miles in, and it was a 20 mile ride, and it wasn’t going to get much easier. The last time I tried mountain biking, my rear brake was stuck pretty badly, and I had an excuse. This time, I couldn’t blame anything other than my lack of exercise and increasing weight.

I’m afraid I added a new ride to the list of ever-memorable failure rides today.


Weight gain creeps up over time. I stopped being active over a year ago as I contemplated the decision to quit my job, spent a lot of time traveling, and started working on Darkroom.

I knew I had been gaining weight, but I wasn’t aware that I was losing muscle mass. A popped shirt button here and a slightly tighter fitting pair of pants there and you look back after a year noticing a meaningful difference. This trip was a sort of shock to my system because it caused a disruption to my routine. I couldn’t wear the same comfortable, broken-in pair of jeans and loose shirts anymore – I was going to a formal wedding. 

It’d been a while since I last wore my suit and dress shirts, and putting them on gave me a sense of how far I had strayed. 

For me — and I reckon a lot of people who lose a lot of weight — a constant fear had been that the weight loss was temporary. For three years I held either a downward or flat weight graph, and had been reaping the rewards, emotional, social, and physical. This weight gain over the past year is a terrifying reversal and has become a constant, ever-present source of anxiety and disappointment. 

My stubbornness against buying any clothes a size larger than what I used to comfortably wear before means I now walk around in uncomfortable new jeans, and I occasionally have to re-button a button in my shirt that popped off while I was sitting. It also means that I’m constantly walking around with a source of aggravation like an unscratchable itch. A constant reminder that I have let myself down and let go of an important part of my post-collegiate life. 

And if you know me at all, you know that I don’t take to personal failures lightly. 


The benefits of health are huge. Not least of which is the added  self confidence and positivity. It’s hard to maintain an active and spontaneous dating life without self confidence in how one feels emotionally and physically. It’s hard to remain social when the added anxiety affects ones mood.

I’m making some short term changes to change the tide and get back to a happy place. I currently weigh 185-190b. At my lowest, I clocked 170lb. I suspect that with my lost muscle mass, my weight gain is closer to 30 pounds. At 175, I felt satisfied with my weight, physically and emotionally. At 170, I was ecstatic. I imagine my efforts at weight loss will help me regain a fair amount of muscle mass, so I’m setting my target at 175 for the next 2 months.

Towards that effort, I’m going foor the low-hanging fruit for these two months: 

  • I’m reducing drinking to 1 night a week and 3 drinks maximum.
  • I’m reducing my dinner to smaller meals instead of the main meal of the day and shifting those calories towards lunch.
  • I’m starting a gym routine. I’m expecting to do a combination of running, weights, and yoga, along with weekend bike rides.
  • As far as Diet goes, I’ve already reduced my pasta/bread/rice intake, so I’ll continue that, but I’ve been pretty bad about tortillas and chips, so those will go as well.

It’s not nice to be unhappy with your health and body, but what’s less nice is denying it or not doing anything about it.

Reflexions on m 27th Year

It seems like the years follow a cycle of change and stability. Last year was relatively quiet. In 2013, not much happened apart from enjoying the ride. 2014 was different and can be broken down into three parts.

The year itself started as a continuation of the theme of 2013: Enjoying experiences and the joy of life. I took my parents on a trip to Hawaii and followed it with a winter full of skiing including a trip to Park City which turned out to be an incredible skiing experience with great people.

 

Part 1: Leaving Instagram

Early in the year, I wrote in my journal: 

I still feel scared. For years I've wanted to start my own company. I can't sit here for another 2 years and find myself looking back in regret.

Coming into the new year, I began asking myself hard questions about where I wanted to be and what I wanted to get out of my time, and I wasn’t able to answer them within Facebook & Instagram. I had a great run of personal and career growth in my time there but it stopped, and my attempts at restarting it sputtered. Eventually, the opportunity cost of time became too great, and a choice of how I wanted to spend my time became necessary.

It wasn’t an easy decision, and took a few months of mental gymnastics, back and forth, questioning and re-validating assumptions. I’m sharing the following journal entry, also written in the early months of the year, to give you a sense of the internal struggle:

To describe the past week as a roller coaster ride would be doing a disservice to the thrill engineers of the industry. I go from the deepest, most gratifying sense of self satisfaction to a deep pit of fear, anxiety and distress. Right now I'm at the bottom. My stomach feels empty, my brain has been buzzing since 7 in the morning, unable to focus on anything but the single issue: What the hell am I thinking?

At this moment, I'm convinced I won't be able to persuade anyone to work with me. I'm convinced I won't be able to come up with a worthwhile idea. I'm convinced that even if I was wrong on the last two counts, I'll still come up short on execution. 

There are currently 3 things keeping me going: The knowledge that it logically makes sense to do it, the urging of my friends who have made similar moves, and the knowledge that failure, along with this self-doubt is as common as table salt.

From my viewpoint right now, I can't imagine that the money I'm leaving on the table would be more fulfilling for me than the lessons and stories that will ensue. I know in my heart that when I look back at this decision, I will be glad I did it, glad that I took this leap of faith into a dark abyss. And yet...

Is this what entrepreneurs refer to when they talk about the pit of despair? It certainly feels like it.

That feeling of despair hung over me for months. I share this not for pity or exhibitionism, but for two reasons: The first is purely documentarian and selfish; This is, after all, my own reflection on my year. The second is to share my personal experience with anyone who may be going through a similar experience. Knowledge that a struggle – privileged as it may be – is a shared experience, has always helped me push through. In hindsight, I can look back at that fear, and though it’s still there, I can say that it was the right decision to make.

Through this experience and others this year, I’ve resigned myself to a life of perpetual imposter syndrome. To this day, I feel the pang of anxiety as a technical conversation gets underway. Will this be the conversation that outs me as incompetent? No matter what I learn, what I accomplish, or how much I grow, it’s there, forcing me to question, re-evaluate, and challenge myself. In any endeavor, trivial as it may be, the better I become, the higher my standards, the lower my ability to meet them.

Those first few months of the year weighed so heavily on me, I stopped cycling, I stopped dieting, and I became afraid of downtime. I filled my weekends with skiing, bike rides, scuba lessons, motocross lessons, camping, and travel. I cherish those experiences now, but they were distractions. Increasingly, I spent time in Google Maps Engine plotting my road trip. I was off and running.

Part 2: Travel

In late June, I bought a 1991 VW van. A couple of trips to REI later, I had it packed and ready to go. I picked up Ben at 4 AM and we headed south. I didn’t know what to expect going in. I imagined a trip where I would spend a month of solitude in the mountains, but I chickened out, and invited friends. I ended up spending only half the trip on my own, and was glad I had friend with me for the other half. I met some great people on the trip, some of whose stories I shared on this blog already. 

Today, I yearn for the clarity of mind I had on the trip, and the simplicity of life it accompanied. The Southwest was a beautiful place to be in May, and a van turned out to be just what I needed at the time. I was forced to step out into the world in a way I had never done before, and I was forced to interact with people that didn’t come naturally to me. I grew up in Syria, where the class system was more formalized. Interactions with strangers was distant. In America, interaction with strangers is the norm, a part of daily life. It takes active effort for me to put my guard down, and living in a van was a forcing function. Bob, whom I met in Death Valley, stands out to me from my travels. His life offered a pure alternative to mine, and it was refreshing to see someone dedicate themselves so wholly to their love.

I also ended up reading quite a bit on the trip. 10 books in total, and those books helped frame some of my thoughts. Specifically, Man’s Search For Meaning, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and, yes: Eat Pray Love. These books helped me think back to why I do what I do for a living, and what motivates me to do it. I think I lost sight of that at some point, and it felt good to see it again. The day took on a routine that started with breakfast, reading, cleaning, planning, packing, driving, arriving, reading, cooking, campfire, and sleep. The routine freed up time and space for even more introspection.

I arrived back in San Francisco 4 weeks later with a clear head, a slower heartbeat, and a smile on my face.

Then Ryan quit, and I had an unemployment companion. Luckily, the World Cup had just started, and we no longer had to struggle to fill our time. We both had an upcoming trip to Norway planned, and the downtime in between was spent playing pool, drinking beer, and watching soccer matches. In itself, that experience was a wonderful break from a lifelong obsession with productivity and work. 

3 weeks in however, a thought began to gnaw on me. What if my birthday blog post ended there? How would I feel about it? I decided that the story of the year ending in a bar would be disappointing. Ryan agreed, and in lieu of an actual idea, we decided to make a bet: We’d both commit to releasing an app to the app store by the release of iOS 8, and the one to make more money, wins. Clearly, neither of us released an app. However, the project that sprouted out of that bet is what keeps me busy today.

Back to travel.

We made the bet, and a week later, we picked up an Über to Oakland International Airport. 9 hours later, we landed in Oslo, and I’ll leave the recounting of what happened there to Ryan: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. Norway was the second-best trip of my life, second only to the van trip. The recall of what those hikes felt like sends me nostalgically back to the mountains and the grass and the snow and those ringing sheep.

A couple of weeks in Norway and Ryan headed back stateside, and I made my way to Amsterdam, Paris, then Detroit. Those last three destinations passed in a blur as I frantically worked on my project. It had been so long since I’d been so thoroughly engrossed at work, it was like rediscovering it all over again. The pride, the ownership, the challenge, and the rewards were intoxicating. I made it back to San Francisco with a working prototype. 

Part 3: Back to Work

Stay tuned.

15,000 Words: Days Two and Three – Logistics

For lunch, I got a “Woody Allen” from Carnegie Deli: A monstrous pile of pastrami with a couple of pieces of bread to hold it together and some sauce to lubricate all that meal down your throat. It’s a typical New York place, with the autographed headshots of celebrities lining the walls, and people with attitude serving you. Couldn’t have asked for anything better. Half way through the sandwich the stomach cramps started and my body was wondering what post-apocalyptic situation had transpired in which the only food left was pastrami.

Lunch time in Manhattan should be its own tourist attraction. 1.6 million people need to be fed at least three times every day in a (relatively) tiny area. You can be at Central Park at 11 AM and see people eating. Walk south for an hour, and watch people eating on every corner. Hop in the subway and get out at the southern tip, and people are still eating. How does all that food get distributed? My god, there must be thousands of stores, restaurants, streets carts, and other food vendors in Manhattan.  Assuming that most of these vendors need to restock daily, and ignoring the production of the food, my brain spins trying to imagine all the trucks with delivery schedules and boxes of food. How does it stay fresh? How do you have time to deliver? It’s like Santa trying to deliver gifts to all the children on christmas eve, it’s a logistical magic trick!

Then there’s the water. I bent over to drink a sip of water from the water fountain in the Public Library. How did that water get to that fountain? Where did it come from? 1.6 million people drinking about a gallon of water every day, apart from showering, cleaning, cooking, and waste. Just how big is that reservoir? How have New Yorkers not drank all the water in the ti-state region by now? 

Anywho, my stomach was hurtin’ from all that pastrami, and I needed to walk it off. Down Fifth Avenue I went, careful to stay away from the sunny side of the street. Considering the improbability of actually seeing the sun in the slot canyon that is Manhattan, it wasn’t very hard to do. 


I have mixed feelings about traveling alone. On the one hand, having complete freedom over my schedule is freeing, on the other, it can get lonely. Yesterday was the former. Walking around aimlessly, my mind drifts in and out of consciousness, prompted by its visual stimuli. These few days in New York have been really helpful for me. You see, my brain operates like Wario from Mario Kart 64. It’s slow to start, but when it starts, it moves with the inertia of a freight train. That is, it takes a bit of effort for me to commit to a task. However, once the commitment is made and the motivation budgeted, context switching becomes really expensive. This modus operandi lends itself to bouts of forgetfulness and single-mindedness. Just ask my Mom to tell you stories of me getting onto the school bus and leaving my bag on the street, or stories of walking into a lunch joint at 10:30 in the morning and wondering where people are. 

New York has restarted my brain. Sure, I get excited about work after doing a demo and I’ll wanna sit at a Starbucks and crank some code out, but the Starbucks’ in Manhattan don’t have seating, and meeting people usually involves public transportation across the boroughs, a task I’m very inefficient at. All of which involves me walking a lot (Averaging 7 miles a day). I left San Francisco concerned, and I haven’t had a chance to dwell in New York.

15,000 Words: Day One

Day One.

It’s hard to write given a deadline. All my writing has been driven by emotional spurts, pouring out in-the-moment, raw. So why am I sitting in the dark, cross legged in my friend’s apartment in New York City, wondering what to write about? Some context may be in order for the first installment of “15,000 Words”.

I’ve been feeling overwhelmed recently. In starting a company, my brain is on overdrive, from the moment I regain consciousness from sleep, till I lose it back to sleep. Mostly: engineering, design, and project management occupy the brain. However, more and more brain cycles are consumed by tangential thoughts, and insights are being gained without being articulated. What follows is my attempt to navigate this new environment.

I’ll be talking here about the industry, trends I see, and biases I observe. Some politics may find its way here, but it’ll (hopefully) be carefully treaded. I’ll talk about the process of starting a company, my challenges along the way, but I have yet to determine the level of detail to get into.


So here I sit, having just spent an evening of sober karaoke (see my FB feed for that explanation) with a bunch of my ex-coworkers. This isn’t technically my first time in New York City: A couple of years ago I spent 4 days here for Electric Zoo, but half that time was spent on an isolated island, and the other half was spent wandering. Not quite enough time to say you’ve “been” to a place. This is the first time I spend a whole week here with a purpose.

The first indication that I’m in a different place, right off the airplane, was the diversity. San Francisco, or at least my exposure to it, is not a very diverse place compared to NYC. From the African lady who sold me my bottle of water to the Sikh Uber driver to the large group of Hassidic Jews in the arrivals terminal, this is not a place to be painted with a broad brush. One lady in particular stood out to me in the terminal. She was an older lady – I would place her in the 70s – was sitting next to a similarly older gentleman in a Yamaka. She had a tight black flapper hat on, bright red lipstick, and a black dress. She looked perfectly composed, and perfectly authentic, in a way no costumed-outfit can look.

In the cab, watching the city pass by, Manhattan’s skyline lit up in the distance, you begin to feel it. New York doesn’t feel like a place to settle to me, it feels like a place to fight. Like the driver told me: “I don’t like it here, I’m not comfortable. You can make a lot of money here, but you can’t be comfortable.” Those words rang true for me. You can feel it in the bricks here. This city was built on the backs of industrialists, tycoons, and political bosses. This place has a buzz. Nobody has time for your shit. I like that. The city feels like it’s posing a question to me: “What you got, punk?”