VANCOUVER

Every courtyard has its own eternal July - with a worn-out cross, a cigarette on the platform, and a dream of Vancouver that never made it beyond the pages of a notebook. Everyone here is a bit of an artist: some in the kitchen, some on the construction site, but they all have that inner radio playing their own track about how just a little more and everything will work out. Between the old tram and rose-colored glasses lies a simple truth: you don't need yachts or grand plans to feel alive. All you need is friends at the table, a random riff, and a smile on your face - not from fruit, but from sincere laughter.