Some places aren’t meant to be searched.
Only stumbled upon.
This alley — if you can call it that — was part corridor, part dream.
Somewhere in Bangkok’s older districts, I turned one too many corners and found myself inside a loop of stairs, pipes, and shopfronts that didn’t sell anything. There was no name. No arrow. No reason to go in.
But someone had lit an incense stick and tucked it in a crack in the wall.
And across the corner, a red plastic chair was turned just slightly — as if someone had just stood up and might return.
I heard music.
Old, grainy.
A string instrument playing from a floor I couldn’t see.
I didn’t take a photo.
I didn’t feel lost.
I just… slowed down.
There are places like that in Thailand — pockets of pause.
Where life thins just enough to let you rest without asking permission.
You don’t always need to know where you are.
Sometimes, the place already knows you.