Initial re-configuring of the tall Atherton Flat's genome. An object echoing out, dwarfing the city that forgot (forgets?) it.
No humans here - despite the life and the loudness of the realspace - the Atherton you walk through of an evening, with the sun kicking down between the towers and the plane trees fair shivering, and the squeak and scuttle on the court and the scream and the shout (joy, not anger) from the sheltered undercrofts...
...
Work to do.
