#97
The glass protects and prevents. The glass shimmers and reflects. Buildings, like trees poking out of a forest surrounded by the flat openness of the city around it.
Sitting high.
The off feeling of importance.
The way height implies something that doesn’t exist.
Later, ground level, on a train.
Face tired, the reality comes back.
The doors open, the fall air smells woody, the buildings as trees, far to the south, glimmering the false evening lights of hope and safety.