It is raining. This is definite. Brolly and gumboots weather.
But despite this steady rain, humans big and small have come to walk through the underpass.
If the tunnel was not such a warm dense concrete cocoon the rain would be deafening.
But as one wanders past the hanging boxes of affirmation, into the dry pedestrian-cave, the sound of a baby grand piano no bigger than a milk crate is heard mingling with the sounds of intermittent laughter, jangles, and the grumblings of a troll cum defence lawyer –
A stroll throught the webbed labrynth finds specimen jars hanging from temporary fence holding eery, yet endearing contents within, the purply-red light imploring the watcher to come ever so close to view the world inside.
In cyber punk corners hide transgendered hobbits singing lullabies, Gypsies offering fortune, the dancing coat of a cherished lover, phantastic tales from Poets and suited Scorpians, and otherworldly folk with precious stones to keep you safe and sound. And that random laughter! The mother spirit of the tunnel slides past unnoticed, kissing objects and dressing her beloved creatures in cloaks and ruffles.
Viewers walk through once, twice.
The clocks turns to 6:00.
The otherworld dissappears.
Collaborators (in no particular order):