everyones' personal utopia results in this watery melancholy at the crumbled edge of the city. we look out from the buildings hoping for something we've yet to see on the horizon. the buildings are the horizon of the inland sea. the shipwreck we used to rest on is under water. see a pumping station, pumping the lake through the city's arteries, flushing out, sailboats, floaters in my eyes, see the people looking like dogs out to sea.