The city is made of shadows of history,
from the heavy metal shadows of ideas,
through the solid, slightly organic, old-stone shadows of creation,
to the barely noticeable, evanescent shadows of lives unexamined and barely lived,
momentarily dispersed by prevalent winds,
lives of which the city itself is composed,
its life blood,
without which it is just a heap of stuff,
a stone doll-house decorated by metal figurines…
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