Urban landscapes dominate, but something is broken.
“Some of the streets down there ain’t even on the map, ain’t got names, do what you like…”
This city is anxious pathways, dislocated buildings. A mirror looking back on itself, faceless imperfections curving out in front, behind.
It’s easy to lose yourself.
“But what I’m saying, if the mirror were dead plumb, there’d be one reflection, of you, right? Because you’re the man.”
Too much noise, the City devours me.
There’s a tramp in the middle of the road shouting at traffic. An old lady shuffling mournfully along the pavement, talking to her dead children.
I take aim.