Some sping, not only will the snow melt, everything else will melt too. The brown-grey water will wash away towns and villages, it will wash away animals, people, everything, down to the naked skeleton of the earth. Meteorology and geology will join forces, ruling in a dubious coalition with history and geography. The permanent will seize the transitory by the throat. The elements will resume their places on Mendeleev's table and no more tales, no more narratives will be needed to interpret existence.
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I imagined that somewhere between Cierna, Chop and Zahoney a city would grow from the naked soil like a hallucination of the damned, with twenty-four hour commerce, unlimited supply and demand, nd that consumption and capital expenditure would be joined forever in mystical marriage.
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