The street in front was blocked by a ship. Not a tram, an airbus that did not fall from the sky, but a ship to it!.. Having frozen behind a pile of broken brick, I looked out for danger: from my left to my right and into the depths. Seeing even a boat at a traffic light is a bad omen, but here... Nothing. Quiet and smooth. They did not aim at us from above - above me and Patrick there is only a gray sky with gray clouds. Or not clouds at all, but clouds of gray dust. The same one that is everywhere around: underfoot, on the road, on houses, on glass... A tray, tear down the sewer hatch, look into the dungeon - and there will be dust, a lot of dust. From this dust, candles of skyscrapers grew, rushing to the clouds. A third of them collapsed completely, another third - partially, about half, but the last third surprisingly survived - not in its original form, of course, but still. The wind picked out the houses, the window openings were empty, allowing dust to enter the premises...