I sense that something is different. This is not the usual crowd. The thought rushes by and fades. I step off the train, walk a few streets … and I see.

Marbled bodies …

… watch colorful people.

Drinks are available …

… where the parade assembles …

… under the watchful eyes …

… of the force.

I ask myself: Is this intentional, or is this one of the great jokes that coincidence tells once in a while?

I leave before the parade starts, pass through streets less colorful …

… more minimalistic …

… that have other ways to show off.

People walk alone …

… in pairs …

… or choose other companions, …

… but two seems to be …

… my favourite number.

Shops offer seats …

… cookies …

… and coffee, …

… or dare me to enter.

Mixed messages try to hide change.

Old ideas …

… find new incarnations.

Some things seem to resist, …

… others compromise, …

… or gracefully degrade, …

… but time always wins.

People fight to make the moment last …

… or to last the moment.

I reach the waterfront …

… where some things seem out-of-place …

… and others out of time.

The victims of change rust in peace …

… where artists create …

… the signs of our times.

People stand in line …

… for the illusion of an escape.

What is it, that makes some swim like fish, …

… or resist like rocks, …

… while others despair?

What is it, that carries some things through time …

… lets us remember some names …

… while everything else crumbles?