As he waits for morning, the city is dimming, lights off all over the place and shops closing down, Canary Wharf’s towers in semi-darkness. How proud they seemed, how strong, these corporate obelisks – NatWest, Barclays, Credit Suisse – yet in reality they’re nothing but empty boxes. London’s a city of glass, a high-optic bank without nerve-endings or cause; an insubstantial dream haunted by soulless ghosts.
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