The express train brought me where I wanted to go: dirty bridges in a suburban train station. We go through a building landscape, where the tall builings in the syle of the styscrapers (but too small to be such) begin to appear. Where are, now, the NJ trees? I suspect that from here on, very little space will be found for them in the most densely populated area of the world (as far as I know). I am, as it seems, in Newark.
A black graffiti on the corroded metal of something, down on the ground, under a traind bridge on a broad river, says:
Whatever that means, it sounds to me as a cry out against the arrogance of nowaday's workgivers. If not the revolution, at least some dollars more in the payroll...