Organisational structures, those delicate balances between supposed meritocracy and feint hierarchy. Much of that work is completed in sentences, poetic circles around ambitions and directions. Invisible dotted lines across the sky, through streets and over city greenlands.
The day rises to gossamer threads, agents bound to one another not by knowing, but by action. Another city awakes some thousand miles away, the lines between the actors tense, tighten and draw taut. There, several time zones removed, one more city sleeps, thinking on ideas the other has not even encountered.