The Balcony at the Edge of the World

Early morning mist hung low between the buildings, draping everything with a thin layer of nature’s ambience. Tendrils hung over the sides of the Crossline as she moved effortlessly along it. The city had extended it several times over the years as new developments swallowed up the ground below. True ground level in much of the city was reserved for transportation and utilities these days, outside of the zone protected by the Act, with some parts accessible only by permit or a healthy disregard for your bureaucratic future.

Amy’s building sat not too far from the natural center, where the ‘Line and the Cross met. She’d already walked a couple of miles, gently sweating into her casual workout gear. The trick over the next few miles was knowing the right people, and by people, she really meant AIs.

The public Cross descended up ahead into a station for the W. Sure, you could take the train across town and pick up some other elevated public path and eventually get where she was going, but Amy grew up around here and that wasn’t the way she did things as a teenager. She took the smaller path circulating past the stairs, reflecting on how much had changed in the last 15-20 years, passing under a “private - no trespassing” sign where the concrete changed color.

A door hissed open to reveal two more doors. She planted her feet in the designated area. A soft, computerized and yet strangely familiar voice came out of the speakers.

“I’m sorry, private access only, please use the public stairs behind you.”
She smiled.
“Hello Amy”
There was a pause, before the familiar, synthesized voice replied.
“Hello Amy”
“You are me.”
“I am you.”
“As I am you, may I have walkthrough access?”
“As you are me, you may walk the Cross.”

The left door opened, revealing a suspended walkway cantilevered out over the side of the building. Amy stepped through and continued on.

The next few miles of buildings had all been developed by the same conglomerate almost 20 years ago during the Big Vertical movement in the city. This walkway hung out into the airspace over the street below, originally designated as a public right of way before the evolution of air rights and the construction of the W. Now it was a private outdoor space that, in her observation, was woefully underutilized by the denizens of these buildings. A few people did pass her by, blissfully unaware of her renegade status.

Exiting through a similar door she rejoined a wider, more familiar public space. Not technically the Cross any more, as that infrastructure didn’t extend this fair, but another similar public works project kept up the East-West corridor. Part of the W spilled out into this section, and there were designated street vendors along the widest part, as well as access to stores, offices, and homes. She stopped at one of the vendors to grab a quick lunch before moving on.

Hours ticked by into miles filled with heat, noise, sweat, water, and the diversity of the city. The mountains, once distant, now loomed over the buildings, showing off how Mother Nature could still build higher than us. The Sun, strong and blazing through the day, now dipped lower in the sky, kissing the tops of the mountains.

Out here, “Big Vertical” was something those city folk were starting 30+ years ago. Nobody out here at the time expected the city to swallow them whole in such a short timespan. Teenage Amy remembered appreciating this space in a backwards “going there makes me thankful that the city isn’t that place” kind of way, but now that here and there were just different architecture of the same place, she missed the land and the people. Finding true ground level out here was easier, sure, but there was never any real sense of leaving the city.

Descending through a series of roadway access and fire escapes, Amy found that true ground level - and the entrance to the park she was looking for. Down here the sky reminded her of a backlit ceiling, sunset hues reflecting off the underside of clouds, seemingly glowing from within.

Heading deeper into the park, she found a familiar cluster of trees, and fishing through her backpack, strung a hammock between two of them, sitting on a fallen log eating cold street food in the dark before flopping over for the night.

[OOC: oh no, we’re totally not writing some sort of episodic allegorical fiction, free-written out of whatever my consciousness is processing on any given week. but if we were, the first episode would be here]