Storm-worn
facades of grandiosity lighten slightly, mid-morning, their Palladian claims overlooked
by backpackers. Hotels named for founding fathers peel and wall-crack their way
to demolition. Cranes congregate where the picking’s easy. Commuters are scarfed
against June winds, colder than predicted. Over the river, wafer-thin
apartments get the light, new ones springing up like exotic vertical mushrooms.
If there’s a place for a village, it’s an afterthought. Southbank trials new
avenues of saplings, held together by bars and hessian ribbon. Homeless keep to
the sunny side. Freeways are a temporary roof over their heads. A cardboard box
keeps the wind away.
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