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When you commute in New York City for long enough, most of its daily affronts and unpleasantries tend to fade into the background. I can shut out the fetid smell of a neglected subway station; I can glance away from the pesky strobe of ads for AI HR B2B banking apps, inedible recipes, and that annoying-ass Hinge campaign; I can even take a stranger's poor backpack etiquette—if the car is crowded, it goes on the ground—in stride (most of the time).
But some irritants are impossible to ignore; and one, in particular, has had me at my wit's end all summer. I'm talking, of course, about the @7SoulsDeep "poetry" I am forced to walk by at least three times a week, when I'm not getting jump-scared by it in the wild.
The work of @7SoulsDeep is nothing if not polarizing. It cleaves its audience into two camps: People who have clapped when their plane landed, and everyone else.
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