Somewhere between marble and concrete, centuries have begun to misbehave.

Ancient proportions persist in the most unlikely places.

A fractured column, a subway entrance, the artificial glow of a neon light exposing the pale geometry

of flesh.

What was once sacred has acquired rather earthly appetites.

Dust settles on polished surfaces.

Stone retains the memory of touch.

The metropolis, for all its technological arrogance, reveals an unsettling resemblance

to a civilisation already lost.

There is something profoundly subversive about time.

Its refusal to proceed in a straight line, its peculiar habit of resurrecting

archaic ideals within the very structures designed to supersede them.

The classical and the contemporary become indistinguishable,

caught in a perpetual exchange of forms, desires and contradictions.

Yesterday inhabits tomorrow.

And somewhere beneath the asphalt, antiquity is still breathing, burning with desire.