Above a vast animated roofline, you sight the top 40-50 ft of a modified city bus. Far above its open 2nd storey, just masts & slow passage either towards or away. You may never see the lower anatomy.
The beast would be heard first. What may well be a full pound of psi per blast, the hiss of two quick burps of large-tank propane is this city’s car horn.
Fortunate as you are during the day to hear it, her domain unfolds on approach of evening. The bright throw of orange produced by open flame simply has no analog beyond this city. It’s not constant but occasional. The size and elevated position of the burst can act as candle over the city, visible for miles, to 1000s of residents, rarely from the same point twice.
As you approach, yet another sense is stimulated. Its an exponential progression played out over prehistoric scales. The size of open flame versus (or in relation to) the throw of its heat. The sheer rate of temperature differential is disturbing. The scarcity of oxygen if you’re in the immediate vicinity will take your breath, making speech difficult.
You only get a finite amount of these. And like that they’re gone.
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