If you’re just tuning in: I’ve been turning a downtown bathroom into a mural — part confession booth, part existential doodle, part “is the person that painted this okay?” 

If you pay attention, life is strange a lot of the time.

Today, while bouncing between mural layers and mild delusion, I saw a coffee shop worker carry a full bag of soiled clothes out of the bathroom trash. Like, someone went through something in there, and just left the evidence behind.

Later on the square, a dog sprinted into the street, still tethered to a red plastic patio chair that shattered across brick streets like performance art. His name was Oreo and I know that because the owners painstakingly groaned “NoOoO, OOOOrEEREooooooOoOoo!”

I’m keeping the red chair shard, fully believing it will have a new purpose soon.

In between the public theater, I hung a few of my pieces at the vintage shop down the street (small joy), tried on clothes I couldn’t afford (small fantasy), and painted until I was done painting. The mural is so close to becoming a finished thing. The walls are full of color, the vibe is increasingly (intentionally) wierd, and I’m almost certain the shop regulars are catching on.

The day was messy and strange, beautiful in patches, uncomfortable in others.

And at the end of it, I fed the downtown birds. A small, consistent kindness. Because sometimes that’s all you can do: make the thing, witness the chaos, and feed the birds anyway.