With time comes the satisfaction of carrying a more defined identity, a masterwork chiseled slowly by each passing life moment and the constant traffic of thoughts; whole sections demolished, restructured, and rebuilt at the whim of a changed opinion, a faltering conviction, a new revelation. From a blank wilderness, the face of a city emerges. A conglomeration of opinions, beliefs, tastes, held together by a subtle undefinable quality, the surface proof of which we call a personality. Yet no matter the strength of the foundation or the apparent aesthetic quality of the skyline from a distance, it remains a malleable quality, shaped by so many prodding moods and memories leaving their damage behind, the way so many footsteps erode a city along well-traveled paths. They provide the undertones and peculiarities we call a character, the leaking tunnels, the pot-hole ridden streets, the chatter and the smells that define a neighborhood. They are the subtle imperfections tucked behind the shimmering glass surfaces of a courteous smile that really make one person different from the rest. Like so many languages cluttering the air, communicating and confusing...
Well-known moods afflict a person as surely as the tides of an undulating crowd afflict certain sections of a town.
