MIRRORLESS CITY
When the sun goes down
Looking up you constantly risk losing your balance, but you can't do without it. The skyscrapers are an intricate modernist forest made of mirrors and reflections, at each corner a new and amazing structure. It is the center of business and economic activities in Los Angeles. In short, offices, offices, offices. Offices. By day it is a vital neighborhood, full of little ants that move at a frenetic pace, swinging ties, suits, white folds that are always just polished. It is at night that the transformation takes place, the offices close, the sun, setting, brightly proposes reflections of breathtaking beauty and leaves the darkness, the emptiness in the streets.
Everything's quiet. Silence and darkness are scary, but they can be considered a refuge from all those invisible driven out by their encumbrance, their bad smell, or simply because they are ugly to see piled up on the sidewalks of a wealthy city. And this is how the neighborhood reveals its opposite night, a swarm of homeless people. The ties, at times, are there, but discolored and full of stains. There are so many that one cannot imagine. America, the land of dreams, the promised land. Land of individualism, there is no mutual agreement, no unemployment. Who does not make it by himself ends up sleeping under the Disney Cancert Hall or on the Bunker Hill stairway. Amazing, modern, avant-garde places that host the oldest and most incurable of evils: the incautious and disproportionate distribution of wealth.
Disney Concert Hall