This work stages the city as a wake: a monumental, charcoal-dark body lies sprawled across a tiled foreground while the street’s perspective recedes into a fog that feels less atmospheric than amnesiac. A ladder—absurdly fragile against such weight—cuts a diagonal through the composition, proposing ascent and repair even as it reads like an instrument of measurement, asking what a life is “worth” inside the grid of urban order. The muted greys and bruised browns of the buildings press inward, yet the small, vivid green serpent on the arm punctures the gloom with a pulse of persistence—an emblem of toxin, healing, or the last stubborn thread of vitality in a landscape that has learned to look away.