Suburban idéalism.

Oppressed and stepped on by cement giants.

We are minuscule in front of them, however the infatuation is all but short-lived and has taught us - maybe even forced - to share the remaining space with them. The umpteenth centimeter of grass is stolen by the asphalt at the edges of the metropolis but it's irrelevant compared to the charm of the streetlights, the smell of freshly oozed tar, the incessant lamentations of the escavators. A chromatic periphery tinted by green cement, an urban jungle, a fusion between earth and artifact.