The smart building breathes out, letting its safe spaces settle, a low table here and a potted philodendron there. It’s dress-down Friday, so we’re all wearing robes or onesies, and there’s an unspoken turning of blind eyes to light recreational drug use, so the occasional spliff passes from hand to cupped hand. We’re brainstorming what might make spaces even safer. Already, we’re out of the bustle and hurly-burly, with due care afforded to every sensory need. Access is easy and the whole environment has been designed with mobility issues and other physical impairments in mind. The complexities surrounding gender identity and acceptance have been accounted for with such innovative sensitivity that international awards are rumoured to be in the offing. What else is there to do? What else could anyone reasonably expect? What if, ventures a young woman in a plush green dressing-gown with daisies embroidered at collar and cuffs, the management stopped that? She releases the smoke from the corner of her mouth and nods towards the gibbet where crows peck at former colleagues. The building breathes in sharpy and it suddenly feels less safe.
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
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