The big wheel is apparently not a wheel, but an eye.

Boxes of people suspended in air and time, up in the sky.

The panorama stretches out before them, a city laid bare.

A few million souls living, they look like ants down there.

Which way to serve them best?

North…South…East or perhaps West?

Culture awaits in this. metropolis, but is anything real?

Find a place to go, chill and soak up the real deal.

Concrete, glass and steel glinting in the midday heat.

On Terra Firma once again, time to go vote with our feet.

The overwhelming need, no choice, we cannot wait.

Making a beeline for culture, we will visit The Tate.

There is art in this City…

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