Edward Hopper Sunlight in a Cafeteria

Edward Hopper Sunlight in a CafeteriaEdward Hopper Summer InteriorEdward Hopper Sailing
about the breeding of cities. But that doesn’t feel right. A city is alive. Supposing you were a great slow giant, like a Counting Pine, and looked down at a city?
You’d see big slow living things, you get small fast things that eat them . . .
Windle Poons felt the brain cells firing. Connections were made. Thought gushed along new channels. Had he ever really thought properly when he was alive? He doubted it. He’d just been a lot of complicated reactions attached to a lot of nerve endings, with everything from idle rumination about the next meal to random, distracting buildings grow; you’d see attackers driven off; you’d see fires put out. You’d see the city was alive but you wouldn’t see people, because they’d move too fast. The life of a city, the thing that drives it, isn’t some sort of mysterious force. The life of a city is people. He turned the pages absently, not really looking . . . So we have the cities - big, sedentary creatures, growing from one spot and hardly moving at all for thousands of years. They breed by sending out people to colonise new land. They themselves just lie there. They’re alive, but only in the same way that a jelly fish is alive. Or a fairly bright vegetable. After all, we call Ankh-Morpork the Big Wahooni . . . And where you get