I can’t seem to move towards the other side of the blockage. Someone has locked the door. A block of carved wood. I can’t get in. Large clumps of dried-out concrete fallen onto my path. The rock lies across the road. Getting around the ornately wrought steel iron frame is not easy, and that is by no means happenstance. Stuck in a pipeline, nothing is flowing, infrastructure needs to be maintained. There is a mainstay left behind as the main stay behind of a fallen wall. I still can not get passed the left overs. They adorn my path, not letting me through. Buildings built above their prescribed height lines force the swervings of birds, left and right. Never over. The boulder is insurmountable and I am no A class digger. Waiting may be the only option. The only recourse in the attempt to move onwards in a swift fashion. The thin shower curtain obstructs my way. Moist air clinging to the material produces a startling sheen. A pristinely pruned rose garden rosebush that forms a hedge has unfortunately grown up in front of my eyes. Hedging my bets of absconding. Thousands of beads intricately threaded onto hundreds of draping lines allow through a morsel of light, but could I move past these hanging fishing lines? Oh no, never. How would I knock? Black suit black tie, my wardrobe prevents me from walking on in. Blocked again just as I thought I may sneak past the bouncer – the club’s impermeable membrane does not have a sense of humour when it comes to such things. Sweat pants don’t fit. Tenuously balanced blanket-fort walls wind their way around me, white washing my will of withdrawing. Whatever it may be, it seems firmly rooted to the spot.