Dear friends,

Change is in the air. All stones are unturned. Feeling a certain itching to explore. Fixtures seem like illusions now, walls seem eerily thin. Doors are deceptive, words are viscous. Oratory was invented for dubious matters, but we try our best not to lie in this magazine.

This street holds its secrets
like a cobra holds its kill
This street minds its business like a jailer minds his jail
That house there is haunted, that door’s a portal to hell
This street holds its secrets very well

Change is in the air. Feeling like Calvino’s Marco Polo, relaying infinite invisible cities. Look at everywhere we’ve been, all the tales we’ve told. How pretty are these twenty pages? I am the luckiest traveler.

With love and gratitude,
Sasha Rotko, EIC