Took a night train to Venice and arrived just as the sun was creeping between the run-down buildings which clattered down confusing streets.
This still and empty tomb of a bygone time stood tensely, as if waiting for that last flood to wash it away.
The decrepit buildings leaned on each other for support as if, without their friends, they would crumble and topple over into the narrow canals, leaving nothing but wet rubble as a monument to this dying city.
No one was to be found walking the streets of brick (bricks which seems to say, “I’m tired. Kill me now.”) save the trash boy with his push cart, cleaning up from the debaucherous rabble rousing of the tourists the night before.
As he disappeared down one of the maze-like streets, an unloved, unwanted cat trotted meaninglessly toward more nothingness, looking for scraps or a post to rub itself against in an effort to, I assume, feel something. Another visiting stranger in a gaudy red shirt bustles past some pigeons who barely move. They wait, as if content to be trodden upon, as if to say, “there’s nothing for us here anymore. Bring us the sweet release of death.”
A golden glow gleams through open windows, against ancient facades, highlighting their perpetual deterioration. It’s a new day as this city waits for its demise like a totem to the very idea of mortality. There’s no hope felt as the sun climbs into the sky. This was a little red bench I used to find a paid wifi signal, to find accommodations which, of course, weren’t planned ahead. If only it was a reasonable hour, I could’ve gotten some pizza or, according to the awning, an electric kebab. The life-giving water fountain in the centre of this courtyard was rightly turned off. To give the impression that something cool and refreshing could spring from such a place would be a lie that no Venetian should have to live with. Each abandoned bridge lifted you slowly as if to say “there’s nothing on the other side either. You’re wasting your time.” They brought you deeper and deeper into this cruel labyrinth of decay. Venice is known for having the narrowest streets (which regular people would confuse as alley ways). As you stroll down the dank pencil thin roads, searching for an address you may never find, the buildings, like from some horrific thriller, seem to slowly move in, wanting to crush you and absorb you as if this city only exists to kill and die itself.Ultimately, I did end up finding the hotel and having a pretty decent sleep.