In NY last week, on a beach devoid of sand, took place a yearly festival lighting small plates made from pressed palm leafs remembering loved ones lost and thanks for futures ones to be born.

NY is a scathing frying pan dirty with stale stir fry oil, but it can still cook a mean Lo Mein. Despite this we sometimes get used to scratching out the grease and never tasting the noodles, thinking them over-priced.

Its worth your sanity and just a small measure of humanity to remember that there isn't such a thing as 0 hope. Not yet anyway and its small gestures like this, in the rain, the humid and dark weather, that serve to remind those still looking to be reminded.

Waves knocking plate after plate over, very few make it, rowboats scatter them aside in a desperate attempt to make the 12:30 ferry for lunch. Mutated Hudson monstrosities devour countless dreams, high as fuck off mercury and stale cigarette butts. And then of course, there's the subway to deal with.

And I'm happy to say, of the many lost to the briny deep, this time anyway, NYC made it. And consider me sentimental, but I'd like to think its because someone out there still cares.

So always care.

Hindu Lamp Festival/Pebble Beach/NYC