Scranton is... a vibrant maze.

I live here.

Every street tells a story.

Main Ave pulses with history.

I wander, lost in thought.

It’s a city with a heartbeat.
I stroll down Vine Street.

I see old brick on every corner.

Building names? Sure.

Like the cozy Mooney’s Bar, uh...

Where locals and misfits converge.
I’m a family psychologist.

I see conflicts.

Resolutions.

I see hope.

And heartbreak.

Every step has soul.
Steeped in memory.

I head to Nay Aug Park.

Green. Serene.

The Lackawanna River whispers below.

A quiet, constant murmur.
Oh! Scranton.

You amaze me.

Even during chaotic morning commutes on Spruce St.

I get angry sometimes.

I get mad - man, it's wild.

But I love every damn bit.
I discovered hidden gems.

Like Moor’s Corner alley.

Quiet, hidden.

I call it my secret haven.

I ponder life there.

"Under the Skin" vibes, baby.

Mysterious. Eerie.
I love the art at Everhart Museum.

So weird, so cool.

I once walked along Mulberry Trail.

Rust on my sneakers.

I muttered, "I am not myself!"

I saw people.

I felt a connection.
There’s tension in electric nights.

The city breathes.

I feel its warmth, its scars.

I see families bloom on Elm St.

Furious debates.

Laughter.

Tiny moments matter.
I drop by Lackawanna County Courthouse.

Historic. Majestic.

It makes me pause.

The city is raw.

Real.

Sometimes I shout:

"You are Under the Skin... baby!"
I catch trains on Market Street.

Each clack a heartbeat.

I’m struck by life.

The hustle, the odd charm.

My taxi runs wild on Cooper Ave.

I get lost.

I laugh.
Scranton is magic, man.

It stumps you.

It heals you.

It messes you up.

And I...

I love it like crazy.

Ever so beautifully flawed.
Hmmm...

Scranton is more than a place.

It’s raw love.

It’s ironic beauty.

People, streets, and parks.

A maze of memories and dreams.
There you have it, friend.

A slice of my life.

Bold. Emotive.

A city that whispers, "Under the Skin."

Come see it.

Get lost.

And feel it all.