Today I finally reached the city of __________ famed the world over for its astonishingly beautiful architecture. As soon as we disembarked I made my way to the central plaza, a big smile on my face like a child on his way to the toyshop. Not only was I impatient to see at first hand the idiosyncratic buildings and the monumental sculptures, but also the people who lived here. I was curious to know if living in one of the world's most beautiful cities would rub off on the inhabitants, thus imbuing them with special qualities. I imagined smiling faces radiating benevolence to each other, heads tilted back in awe, and receptive not only to the beauty of all about, but to each and everyone's humanity.
But when I stepped off the bus and gazed around, my first sensation was one of confusion. Heads were not raised to the glistening mosaic towers piercing the blue sky, or the abundant and extraordinary artworks, but bent forward, looking down at an object in their hands, which I noticed all had glowing screens.
Several reasons for this strange phenomenon came to me simultaneously: The inhabitants all suffered from an inability to navigate autonomously, which these devices remedied; They might also suffer from some mental disorder that the glowing screens somehow pacified and controlled; The devices were a form of tagging for those who had transgressed the law. This last idea was perhaps the least plausible because of the sheer number of people concerned.
My sense of disorientation only deepened as once again I gazed up at the towers. The colours of the mosaics were not as bright as they were intended to be, the ornamental metalwork was dull and tarnished, and the windows were dirty, cracked and broken.
Everything looked rather shabby and uncared for, as if the city itself had sensed the indifference of the people, and no longer really cared how it looked.
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