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I’m standing before a vast crumbling structure surrounded by broken security fencing; A Danger-Keep-Out sign lies crushed and rusted on the tarmac of what was once an immense car park. Inside, beyond the barricaded doors, I know that escalators have warped and decayed into terrifying reptilian shapes; that beneath the caved-in roof among the broken glass and the smashed tiles, saplings have sprouted. I know that remnants of signage and advertisements haunt the walls; that the entire place is like some gothic fantasy of the end of the world. I know because I have seen the images. I am afraid to enter, not because I fear ghosts, but because the place is too powerful to be breached or touched. It is both a memorial to my childhood, and to my years of political confusion; some kind of concrete metaphor for my fears for the future and my family. Or maybe it’s just an empty building – I don’t know. The sight of it nonetheless moves me to tears.
