This Must Be The Place

This picture was a gritty sight; the iron filings in the ointment. It was a building, decorated in strange orange salamanders and cobalt runes. It felt like something that would still be standing after two or three hundred years from now, occupied by our long time descendants: ur-families of a future wasteland, sowing seeds to feed and foster.

That would be when the trees retreat to the soil and the sun outstays the moon. When the clouds let loose rivers of colourful rain. It was a long, long, long way away.

But for now, it was just a Berlin adjacent garden out of everyone's way.