With a single margin prolonged between the unknown of what is yet to come and a city left in postponement, the flat axis is extended in an indivisible breath. The road unrolled over the meeting point, connecting the East to the steep cradle of memory, where the islanders become peninsulas under the suspicion of the tides. In this circular gap, bypassing the heat that escapes the low and constant wall, the dust from lost monuments sticks to the sole of those who pass by. The new century changed the shape of the bay, gave it the scar of recent wounds treated in the straight lines of the square and the angular chance of varying volumes, as the precepts of oblivion demand.
It is time to go to the other side – be it land or high seas, whatever is chosen. The avenue loosens ties, it pushes us towards the deferred trip, blasts destinations.
It is not a place, it is an abyss; it can only grant us two exits: the vertiginous stumble in the immensity of an ocean or a single step backward, to prepare the leap into infinity.