Ryan adorns himself with a neon top hat and prismatic campaign ribbons, strides into the steam-filled Great Crystal Palace promenade, and begins waltzing solo to the unheard tune of Sonic Youth’s "The Diamond Sea". He watches through self-adjusting telescopic lenses as glistening pyramids slide across the warped panorama. He tips his hat to the Lady of Ice as she takes his picture, while a rousing silent applause resonates continuosly. The geared pylons click fluidly until midnight, when the rain begins to upwell from the ground and fall into the sky. Ryan’s gloved hand adjusts the dialing wheel, and aims with jaded precision at the empty tin cans, deftly striking each one with not a glimmer of concern. And then a flash of light drowns out all, and Ryan continues his wayward journey, turning his ship toward 1878.
(I’m in an artistic mood.)