The archive of the city is made of black and white maps, original histories found written on stones in a deserted cemetery, symbolic granite replaced by industrial concrete.
Desecrated thieves between bodies with fierce hands, deceased flowers in November, old shopkeepers in trendy streets; young boys, girls, women, mothers, fathers, funny old ladies, all walking.

Ancient ports lay in mist, the morning cafes all mine, people smoking, children, brothers, sisters, streetkids in a human landscape.
Clouds as reflections in the towers, the waterland and its rooms, public/private: anger, grief, distress and sweet charming mornings.

Lipstick names, colourful or gentle white shirts, bikes with broken wheels, flat tyres, winners, losers, stages with important people, positive portraits of passion.
Collect recollections: a bird, a windmill, clouds and a canal.

A sunny day on the water. Return to the story, more women, men, young and old and children walk through the cool light, along modern buildings.

Plastic stranded on the dyke and blue overalls dry in the wind.
An atmosphere of iron, workers in dark streets control the night, maintenance crews, control controls of automatic machines finish cups of coffee, steaming hot.
More roads and bridges, more concrete, more steel, monitors, modems, cables, connections, abandoned ware houses in the danger zone, modern culture circumstantial.