Wester-known-port's sarcasm under sun

the air here tastes like salt and regret, a mix i can't quite separate. my coffee here is bitter, almost sharp, while others enjoy sweetness they never taste. some spots feel safer than others, some just echo louder than brightness here. i'll ditch this after 4 hours, though my feet rebel. local say it's drained but hidden gems swap heat for silence. some say it's unfair, others call it necessary. my view? just swamped, but maybe i'll wander off. some link points to a worse view here while others suggest deeper. another ghost whispers about currents beneath cobblestones when i wander too long. the book here isn't right, but here it sits, sticky and demanding judgment. i need space, leave tomorrow. a distant siren fades, replaced by nothing. i carry this ache like luggage, hoping to unpack somewhere else soon. this place stitches me together in a frayed thread, leave everything else for now. i'm here for ghosts anyway.

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