Slussen. Save the last dance for me. Call the dump trucks. Screw the city. Bail ship. See you at the museum next century. Light and air, what a joke. In your head, buddy. Subways and tunnels. Take it all away. Just a blue helmet and a handful of stop signs down the last staircase. Bail ship. Who did we think we were in our fancy suits and slick haircuts? Finger on the button, Mr. President, and storm the beaches. Tree huggers and sourdough bakers. We couldn’t care less. Give me a helmet and drill and scatter the birds. Screw the city. Burn it to the ground. Cinderella’s foghorn echoes at midnight. Waltz to the satyr’s fiddle. Drop anchor and row. Dance on the water’s graves. Life is time’s fool. In your head, buddy. Raze the towers. Cry and get over it. Call the bulldozers. Make them work for their money. Agree with us or jump in the lake. Slussen is dead, long live Slussen. Give me a helmet and rifle. Watch death twist in the wind. Screw the city. The last wisps of Shakespeare’s hair smolder in the gutters. Hand out the wigs. Down with Dickens and Dostoevsky. No more Balzac or Mann. Warhol goes up in smoke. Nothing has been spared. The city is mute. Pass me a helmet and crowbar. You’ll remember this until the day you die. They were watching the whole time.