I wandered the length and breadth of Chippendale, that forlorn quarter of the city where time appears to have faltered. The streets lay largely deserted beneath a sallow sky, and the air was sharp with the cold breath of a season undecided. A strange hush hung over the suburb, as though it had slipped quietly out of the world’s memory. Buildings, once purposeful, now stand in mute disrepair—facades cracked, their windows dimmed like the eyes of the long-silent. Ivy creeps where human presence has receded, and the alleys whisper with a desolation too old to name. There is in Chippendale an ineffable melancholy, a kind of quiet sorrow that clings not only to its weathered walls but settles too upon the soul of the passerby.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Linking Sign2
