Eyes to the ground. Each step brings a new texture, mostly curious, sometimes treacherous. It may be the relentless subzero temperatures striving to shear layers of stone from the bedrock of paving slabs or tease river pebbles from their concrete casings that has worn the street into new topographies. The stairways of city spaces, already eroded by the footfall of what Winston Churchill called “too much history”, become mirror-like slides in winter with no trace of their treads. Some hard-wearing boots have chipped makeshift steps into one corner of the flight; at the other edge, a lady begging for money sits on her cardboard mat and holds out her hands to passers-by, not for spare change but for their assistance. (more...)