(no subject)
Looking down the street from my office, I can see them building the new IKEA. It's at Slack's Creek, at a distance from the Brisbane CBD just before Google Earth swaps from hi-rez to grainy satellite maps. Big yellow and orange monsters are pushing the dirt around, getting ready to make something.
The old IKEA at Springwood backs on to the bottom of my dead-end street. I watched them build it, too, nearly 20 years ago. I lived in a different house then, but in the same street. As the building went up, such a strange shape, my fifteen-year-old brain dreamed of interdimensional spaceships, of unbounded futures, of endless possibilities.
Looking down the street from the grainy part of the map, I watch them push the dirt around.
The old IKEA at Springwood backs on to the bottom of my dead-end street. I watched them build it, too, nearly 20 years ago. I lived in a different house then, but in the same street. As the building went up, such a strange shape, my fifteen-year-old brain dreamed of interdimensional spaceships, of unbounded futures, of endless possibilities.
Looking down the street from the grainy part of the map, I watch them push the dirt around.