It's found up along cobbled visions of forgotten towns in times disputed by all who lived them. In places caught by Pentax and Olympus children will forever play on empty streets near to crumbled demolished homes. Tall ships still hang over brick wall in this broken vision, with the ships, made by small people whose dreams daily smashed, mirror the horrors of this passing time. Close by, crisp tied officials arrive but soon leave. As they always have and always will. Visitors making quick decisions over local pie and ignored cake.
Today windowless empty youth painted buildings scatter to wind and sudden downpour as in large open working spaces; in tired, dormant feral communities; few people gather each morning for early shift. Labour here is now too vague, mechanical and undisputed. Tiredness is instant and contagious. Jokes are few, clumsy and dulled by lack of echo. Uniforms, worn in shame, are cheap and ill fitting as they signify nothing but cowardice and lack of respect.
Steve Coel
