I found a journal near an office building right next to where I stay. The strange artistic scribble on the cover is what drew me to it. I sat and flipped through it for a bit. The book consisted of journal entries and poems, or lyrics perhaps - mostly regarding love and the loss thereof. I could relate to a lot of the frustrated emotion that came across in the writing, but most of it was too awkward or depressing to enjoy.

I felt weird keeping it, so I gave it back to the city and left it where I found it. I walked by the same spot later and noticed that the journal was gone... lost in the SF ether... I documented a couple pages via Digital Camera...