I went back — crazed to think how much is different, tire wisping along the roads. The Mill still sits here, still its lonely self with its written up walls and soundless echo, still bleeding life around it and still it sits so still. I find myself setting up and think to my chilled self that I have grown much, unlike this here Mill and the former is now married with a child and the city still carries a camera in its hands where as the Mill did its time, shed its wool, paid its dues and entered retirement. Here, this spot, where the night sky shines down and the luminescence of other lively city shines high, high, high into the horizon shows no change. I could not be happier Mill still, stills.