VIA NICE PARK. THE SMELL of fresh-mowed grass was in the air, along with the sound of a fountain burbling somewhere. Rows of distant brick and glass buildings on four sides of this square plot of ground. Something out of a made-for-TV movie-set of an average down-town. A back lot of some studio. Probably in a half-dozen-dozen movies I'd seen.
I'm walking on a concrete path that's well-maintained. Swept clean, not a weed in any crack, not a blade left untrimmed.
As I walk the buildings recede in front of me and seem to follow me at the same distance. Where I choose to take a cross walk to move into another direction, the same effect repeats. Crossing diagonally has no effect other than getting my shoes wet from the dew. When back on concrete, my shoes are nearly instantly dry again.
This
