A grid system in four parts: site, threshold, damage, and a shaky content that's subject to change. Or: a way of holding things in one place long enough to understand what's happening. Narrative. Then it rains. It rains for three days straight, and the city disappears. Then you disappear. I am thinking of the night you opened the door of your house and threw the book into the garden. Dark garden. An intermediary text, architecture is not for babies. Architecture is not for the house, but what surrounds it. If the grid gets wet, then you just slide off it, into the rain. This is an act of repetition made possible by the structure, but only when the structure fails.
"Hey mister! If I'd of wanted architecture, I'd of asked for architecture." "It's architecture 1, dummy." "Who you calling dummy?" "You, dummy." "Don't call me dummy. Architecture 1, my ass." "I love it when you talk dirty." "Oh shut up, do you want me to come over there and..." "Oh shut your pie-hole. This ain't a donut shop, in case you hadn't noticed." "No, I hadn't, actually."