The docklands are so far removed from the misty valley I call home. An industrial jungle, building blocks of our city placed precariously on top of another. Wharfies pushed to their physical limits as chains make music in the night. We dance the grid game like we are in a race, shining our lights to light our way. Yet the river meanders she knows her way, lapping at the docks we dance.
Photography by Matteo Volpi