Even the most renowned of artists on occassion produce shit, utter shit. Helpless to the muse’s wishings, writing whatever comes out of the mind. The mind is a country, some parts barren and the people uneducated, some parts metropolis and refined. Sometimes tangents lead to seemingly boring farms, or deserts. The best, the most creative, find beauty even in these landscapes. Transform a locale that no one would ever even think to know into a bustling mental masterpiece. The obvious routes, places, and things have all been talked about, gobbled up for centuries as fast as they come into existence. The deserted, the abstract, they are the hardest to milk for artistic beauty but are the most satisfying, for you pioneered the way.
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16th Street 
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