Of those who move to settle and those who settle, momentarily, to move, to settle again.

In this dance around deliberate disquiet of fleeting sense of belonging; self-imposed with a smile and courage, we find things, animate inanimate alike, to fill the crevasse in our lives, minds and hearts.

You see, itinerants don’t have a home per se. They collect fragments of and from wherever they go, as they stumble and grow.

It is about us and the things that end up inside our concrete boxes and emit a smell that we call home.

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