Author: Zachary A. Martz

Some photos carry a whole season inside them.

This one is bright and a little ridiculous in the best way: two faces caught mid-day, softened by a playful dog filter, standing in front of a wall of posters that feels like a city talking over itself. It’s the kind of snapshot you take without thinking too much, and then later it turns into a small ache—proof that a moment was real.

“Missing my Boys Already Gavin & Arek” says it plainly. Missing has its own weather. It can show up on a busy street, in the hum between London and New York, or in the quiet after your phone slips back into your pocket. Travel makes friendships feel like constellations—same shapes, just seen from different places.

I like that the picture doesn’t try to be grand. It’s just two friends, shoulder-to-shoulder, letting the ordinary become a little stranger and sweeter for a second. That’s usually how it works: the mundane, the faded background, and then something alive in the middle of it.

Wherever you both landed after this—different time zones, different trains, different rooms—this is the reminder that you were there together. And that you’ll be again.

There’s something almost unreal about stepping into a candy store at night, like walking into a small, bright world that doesn’t ask you to hurry. OMG Candy in Soho glows with color—neon letters, glossy floors, and bins that look like they could hold the whole spectrum.

We wandered in on a date night, not with a plan, just following the pull of light and sugar. The place feels lively without being loud; it’s more like the room is humming. Rows of treats line the walls in tidy grids, while the front tables invite you to lean in, scoop, and second-guess your choices.

Candy is supposed to be simple, but it has a strange power. It brings back old, specific memories you didn’t know you still carried—corner stores, movie tickets folded in your pocket, the patient ritual of picking “just one more.” Standing there, I felt that mix of nostalgia and possibility, the way a familiar sweetness can make the present feel softer around the edges.

We left with a small bag, the kind that crinkles as you walk, and the sense that the city had briefly opened a door into something bright and uncomplicated.