…

Red bricks were laid and grouted with a mixture of optimism and fear—of what was to come. Landless peasants and workers moved toward the same destination along distinctly different paths: one tied to the land, the other to the punch clock. Yet both remained dependent on their bodies. With every step, every supporting hand against the brick-laid walls, we honour their labour with something akin to a chant, a psalm carried through the acoustics of a cathedral, wishing them well on their journey toward unknown shores.

But all reigns must come to an end, the Onion King ploughed his ground one last time and turned his fields into foundations for towering buildings. Buildings filled with new homes and bodies to care for and dispose of. Some things remain the same, but the onion shall be with us no more.