Visits to Town have always been beautiful, something about the area that makes me feel happy, and content about the fact that only suburbies like me can enjoy that experience. The visit to town was beautiful, as memories were created and embroidered delicately on shirts and skirts that walked hand in hand that night, sprouting plants, blossoming flowers and ripened fruits, as they changed seasons around us, from warm gallery lights to cold glitzy neons seen on the horizon. The buildings turned into people, some old and ragged while others sage like with experience seen on every wrinkle of their facade, some like the ones along the marine lines reminded me of mukul dressed in pastels with horizontal and vertical stripes unsuccessfully attempting to break the chubbiness of the volume of these cotton candy cuboids, some like the churchgate station building reminded me of an extremely extrovert and talkative classmate i had in 4th standard, and many more buildings turning the entire town landscape into huge giants who had stopped moving like ents and were slowly turning into stones and plants, but still watched traffic and people wiz around them with speeds for reasons which they could not comprehend. I wonder whether it was rude of us to point to these curious giants looking down upon us to describe and show their intricately carved brackets hanging from their smooth armpits, balustrades that formed their rib cages, spires that crowned their balding heads, stained glass that they wore like ornaments. The artwork that claimed to be sincere representation of everything outside (and in some cases inside) was extremely bland as compared to these stone-wood giants that pondered at overtly underdressed people with a generous plaster of makeup and unearthly accents walk towards an art gallery.