by johannespunkt

Places with no jobs, no life, aclash with bureaucracies that have acquired such inertia that, like with rushing trains, stopping them or even halting them takes as much energy as sending them hurtling into space. So there are these ghost towns like the skeletons of urban sprawl, built in the shadow of fallen regimes, and not a living soul living there. All the houses’ fronts are sloppily painted white, their sides and backs uncoloured. All the grass has died. And at the edge of town, there is a lonely construction crew setting up new houses, trying to avoid the ghosts.