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This land now zoned industrial park land; everything else goes to pot; memories artefacts farms buildings houses furniture; still a very narrow road, winding hand in hand with a dying river lack of trees but potholes to be proud of; yeah, a future industrial park; meanwhile, the air fills up with billions of ice particles all singing into the space while rays delicately edge down from the clouds seeding the grounds; after shock of a sleet storm, hours ago; not to worry all will depart leave the grounds to machines.