Sometimes it feels like the whole environment is connecting with God. The air vibrates through the space, the sun irradiates everything in sight, and you stop for a second. Breathe—there is no rush. A ferry is leaving the port, and a crowd of people, tired, is going back home. The Brooklyn Bridge stands strong, unaffected by the presence of anyone; it feels like not even God himself can shake it. Couples are leaving locks with their names on them, tied to the bridge, hoping their relationships will last longer than the locks. Others are leaving strings, hoping the won’t fly away to become part of the ocean. It’s just our human need to leave a trace after we are gone, a way of saying: at some point, at some time, I was here. New York City, USA, 2025.