Here in the dark heart of the city. Here, in the centre of the seven sided chamber inside the Great Hall, Cross Street, Market Street, Old Bank Street wrap around us, coiling tight, holding us close, arteries, cables conducting the madness, the footfall, the crowds, the paper, the plastic, the exchange. The Exchange.
We circle the city, ravenous for adventure, for meaning. Sniffing out gaps in the fence and sneaking under. Riding the borderline between the real and the imaginary. Here we have found our way in to the city within the city. No less real, no more imaginary. The city within the city. Slipped inside. A sequence of Russian Dolls, second skins. A city not of my mind, nor of yours, but a city that exists between us. Our intimate city. A city teeming with voices, a confluence of forces, coalescing into almost human form.
July 18th 2015