The great district hums in the slowly falling snow: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the white horizon...
Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A dark chessboard of wooden houses in the rain, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the rainswept horizon...
Under the night sky the great district sleeps: A chessboard of old wooden houses in the snow, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street glowing on the horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street disappearing into the rain on the horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the dark horizon...
Under the pink morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...
Under the evening sky the great district turns on its lights: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls inside. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41 atop the motorway, to Boogie Street forking into the snowswept horizon...
The great district hums in the falling rain: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...
Under the violet morning sky the great district wakes: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41. To Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...
The great district hums in the falling rain: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Grand Couron, from Precinct 41 to Boogie Street forking into the rainswept horizon...
You close your eyes and hear the dogs bark. A lone woman sits by a factory window, dreaming of meteorite strikes. On Rue Saint-Gérôme a square bullet slides into a square-shaped chamber. In Old South a man without eyelids smiles. Spring has come. It's time.
The great district hums in the slowly falling snow: A chessboard of wooden houses, 80,000 living souls and chimney stacks. Firetraps as far as the eye can see -- from Main Street to Precinct 41, to Boogie Street forking into the white horizon...
콧등을 따라 흘러내리는 땀방울이, 밤기운이 감도는 마르티네즈 만을 비춘다. 버려진 수산시장에서 펼쳐지는 눈부신 빛의 향연 속에 세 명의 인물이 마주섰다. 몸집이 크고 시끄러운 여자가 다른 두 명을 향해 텅 빈 총을 겨눈다. 그녀는 말을 듣기는커녕... 말이 들리지도 않는 모양이다.
