There are two hanging suns in Manhattan every year.
The sun will hang right at the end of the east-west street,
Dye the whole street honey color.
And there are two shadows under the hanging sun.
One is straight and the other is slightly tilted.
They met unexpectedly in the laundry room at one o'clock in the morning,
Then get closer, closer, until they become one.
I think this is probably New York.
A city that squeezes everyone together and isolates them in different bubbles at the same time.
You don't know who you will meet when you open the door.
Intention: get closer, get closer, until we become one
