“Caution! One train may be hiding another.” 
How easy is it to lose sight? Even for the most avid of the French railway crossers, it would only take a tiny moment of deflection from the furiously moving objects lying ahead; focus on one train alone, even for a split second, reads the warning –– and another might very well come right at you from the opposite direction. Walking, jolting at one’s own pace, would require a special occasion, an exception ––a railway crossing, in the French case–– for the unforeseen and therefore, the threatening obstacle to make its appearance. But in the urban structure, the unforeseen lies all around us: what exhilarates us is our participation ––collective, to be sure–– into a structure, a scale that exceeds us and by doing so, grips us every single moment. A contradiction? Urban space is contradictory by default... our sense of intimacy lies in its anonymity; our feeling of serenity stems out of the never-ending franticness engulfing us when we stand inside it. What surrounds us is a sensationally infinite capacity yet one that we have to succumb to, nevertheless.