The buildings in a city are the books in the library stacks of the lives and memories that surround them. They are entered, exited and passed every day. Some times noticed, some times not. Their stories sit on top of each other. Their spines get fragile and begin to fall. In a new city, you notice the buildings more often. Wondering what happens inside them, how they might affect you, where you stand in relation to them. You sift through them and discover your own story in the process. It is less like that when you are home, somewhere that has influenced you in ways more visible to others than to yourself. The buildings of your memory are always there when you look at their address, even when they’re long gone.