“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.”
Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
As the city disappears around us, it is easy to feel lost.
This is what I saw today, above, on one of my very regular routes.
This is what that place used to look like.
Lost. I mean literally. Where am I, now that that place I knew is gone? That place was how my memory recalled my latitude and longitude.
I mean figuratively. How can we live in a city that is becoming increasingly unfamiliar, when so many physical places, and so many of our memories and narratives, are being deleted.
But Howard, I am told, these places are derelict, they are falling down, they house bad people doing bad things, and they are ugly.
I see. But it’s not the buildings. It’s us.
Before today, it was this:
And today it is big, green, and gone.