Fifth Journey Day 70: Boy at the Coin Wall

Date: July 17, 2025
Location: Batumi, Georgia

I spent most of the afternoon walking along the seaside promenade, where the concrete stretches out parallel to the Black Sea. It's a wide, open walkway — with low palm trees and slightly rusted railings on the edge. The ground underfoot has a pattern of tiles that seems to repeat, but it's not quite the same as the pattern on the tiles. The sea was always there, just off the coast — never dramatic, but steady, with a deep blue color and greenish undertones.

There were times when I stopped without meaning to — sometimes I'd get stuck under a bench, or I'd come across a row of three plastic stools, each facing a different direction. I didn't sketch today, not directly. I let the details gather quietly in my body instead. I felt the salt on my lips, the surprising coolness of a breeze flowing through a narrow alley, and the sound of a woman dragging a metal trolley over uneven pavement.

A boy threw a coin into a hole in a wall and waited. I never saw what he was waiting for. A man peeled an orange very slowly, and I thought it might be for someone else, but it wasn't. It was for him. He ate it facing the sea, never looking up.

I didn't try to make sense of these things; I just held them like small stones in my palm — they were weightless but definite. I felt a quietness settle in me as I walked, not stillness exactly, but a loosening of the need to describe. It made me realize that not every day has to be an adventure. Some days are a single step forward, but you're still moving in the wrong direction.

Now that I'm back in the room, I can still hear the gulls. One keeps repeating a two-note cry — it's not sad, but it's also not happy. I'm just continuing.

That feels right for today.