Ann-Arbor, US. Cold streets. Calculated soul.

Downtown Michigan Ave rocks.

Campus near Central, whiz-bang energy.
I stroll near Kerrytown – food trucks, quirky vibes – nostalgic memories

and even as a psychologist, I see raw stories.

Gallup Park on the Huron River surprises me.

Its calm waters ease tension. "Je t'aime, moi la vie," like in Amour.

But—damn—it craps me off sometimes too.
I wander Nichols Arboretum.

So many lives here; families laughing, crying.

Sometimes I sit at the Diag near Brewer;

It’s real, like quiet introspection.
I watch people on State Street.

Neat! Yet messy souls pass by.

They’re brash, raw, unfiltered.

I get mad over blatant disarray.

City before dawn gives chills—amazing vibe.
I love the secret coffee shop off Main street—

Oh, wait, Main streat, my bad—so cool.

It has stained couches, kid art, heartfelt talks.

I once helped a mom break free.

Crazy, unpredictable, raw talk.
Ann-Arbor is flawed but beautiful.

It makes me happy, mad, surprised.

"Das Leben ist schön." Yes, so it is.
Walking around, days blur.

I see kids, couples, hustlers.

All of us, broken pieces—yet whole.

I cherish these moments.

Every street corner tells our story.
Ann-Arbor rocks everywhere.

Never dull, always alive.

Totally irreglular. Really impressoinful.

Mindblowing, unpredictable, poignant.

Real talk from a psychologist.
I am here.

I live here.

I love here.
Amour style: "We are all at the mercy of fate."

Stay cool, friend.

Enjoy.