As she walks from those different sequences of the same sidewalks she moves her lips as if chanting something so religious that she is deeply devoted to. And then she looks up and sees people and she sees those stories floating above their heads or sideways. Those aren’t necessarily real ones, but they are what she wants to believe they are. And then she does what she has been doing for so long, make it all up.

She makes up stories of how it could be, how it must be like to… or how it would be and she smiles sometimes but sometimes she wonders too long for her to notice she has reached her destination. Her stories come from her everyday journey, on different tracks of the same mind.

These are the stories from the sidewalk (the name was already too popular and copyrighted for me to take it as my title) which come literally from the sidewalk on the way back to her home.