Up and down piss-smelling stairwells, heading to our rendez-vous. You can't walk in a straight line in this city, W. says. It wasn't made for the pedestrian.
We breathe more easily as we are driven out through the suburbs. One day there will be no more cars, W. dreams. The flyovers will crumble. Grass will grow on the motorway. And the concrete collars of the inner, middle and outer ring roads will fall off one by one.
The tower blocks will gambol like rams and the shopping centres like sheep, W. says. And above it all, the same sky as he glimpsed that day at his college, with the students sitting out with their barbecues.
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