A glimpse, through stone and steel, to a world that used to be, or that might yet be. The functional: domineering, and yet added as an afterthought. The buildings around were beautiful once… not masterpieces in themselves necessarily but built with care, and to last, and with an aesthetic reserved for those who feel that what they create matter. Only to be be boarded up, closed of, ringfenced and given the yellow metal treatment – an elevator of some sort. These walls talk – all the time – and they tell a trillion tales. They tell of hard workers in hard times. They tell of cruel realities and tough luck. They tell of some making long, faraway journeys and of many left behind. They tell of the powerless building the powerful. They tell of hardships real enough not to be waved around in people’s faces and wielded like weapons of mass manipulation – but the real kind, the kind the old people don’t talk about, the kind we cover in stony, perpetual silence.
A little piece of authentic cyberpunk? Or trace evidence of the giants on whose shoulders I was – through accidents of time and place alone – to stand upon?