Cathedrals in the desert by Daniele Leonardo

Here it is again, as empty as the first time. Or heavily uninhabited at the very least. Kind of unattended too.
Are they seeing something and somebodies I am not? There are psychics.

Neon lit name and number engraved in a copper like plaque. Just beside the main promenade, the private teak boardwalk crosses a shallow pool similarly lit from underwater from early evening and for all nighttime long. Sprinkling on the very side a fountain of modern design. Not too frilly though; even water has to adjust to the laconism of the future and its bland minimalism, the very same one the few tenants themselves got shoved down their throats, from the handing out of the leaflet to the handover of the downpayment and the undersigning of everything there was to.


It’s the hen and the egg. Did they, someone, anybody, track an actual change in trends of wealthiness and lifestyle expectations on vacation of the incoming visitors, or they simply, delusionally envisioned, or coveted, a future, upper-class clientele that never really showed up? And thank god for that.

The Garda must still have the worst of it all. Nota bene: It’s June…

Some weren’t there I’d say not even ten years ago, but I cannot tell for sure. About ten years ago was the last time I was in here for a while myself.

I first spotted it when I had just come back. Stood out, but against my memories. And at the end of the day, per se too perhaps.
Metropolis-bound, high-end, Abu-Dhabish tacky, although this might be a garage at best over there. Luxurious, pretentious, out of phase, not from nor for here.

The natives were known to be characteristically sober and dignified, and the place family-friendly.
What in the world do you raise in there?

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