“First, there was soil, from which grew useless things. I was happy then, like I cannot recall ever being again.
“I used to turn my nose in that direction every once in a while. I thought there was something, but there was never anything special to see. I didn’t know why I did it, but anyway, I know now. We used to live there, somewhere.
“Right there”, he points to a place through the mist, to a part of the mass, “stood a house, owned by a farmer, decades ago, and that’s a tower now, where men discuss trades and insurances.
“And there, all those buildings, like the one we’re standing on now, all high up in the sky, they seem like they have been here forever. And people blame them for everything. They block their view, they make living more and more expensive. They are symbols of capitalism, keep evil spirits, bring sorrow into the world, and ruin lives.
“This was all fields…” He recites, and then turns away from us, starts looking at the view in solitude, or maybe he doesn’t, maybe he closes his eyes.
He probably thinks about it all the time, that this city was something else, once.