The heavy air condenses as it sinks into The Glass Canyon, mingling and melding with the exhaust rising from the river of traffic below. A deadly equilibrium being settled above heads, yet the traffic never stops. The traffic slices through the canyon, flowing effortlessly. A chorus of civil engineers proudly sings of such efficiency. The way a city should function: timely and orderly.

The Glass Canyon considers its success. Towering over the fleeting traffic, it sees only its reflection: Its continued, unbridled growth; its increasingly complex design. The Glass Canyon basks in its own reflected rays. The traffic’s exhaust or the perpetual rumble of buses tiptoeing by hardly felt. Such majestic giants only look forwards, even to that setting sun behind their tallest, proudest brothers – still sending reflected light deeper into the ravine.

The sun continues to march down. The traffic picks up. The condensed air and exhaust mingle and meld and the Glass Canyon – delicate and precious – settles for a night.